


Scenes From an Inquisition: So Near and Yet So Far

by Schattenriss



Series: The Contours of Shadows [10]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Mystery, Skyhold (Dragon Age)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 16:13:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 24,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22049917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Schattenriss/pseuds/Schattenriss
Summary: With Dorian absent on a mission to the Western Approach, Kai is lonely, bored, tired of Inquisiting and expecting the worst Satinalia ever...until a mysterious purple envelope arrives. Written in a strange hand, the contents will set him on a puzzling quest that promises a great reward if he chooses to take on the challenge...
Relationships: Dorian Pavus/Kai Trevelyan, Dorian Pavus/Male Trevelyan, Male Inquisitor/Dorian Pavus
Series: The Contours of Shadows [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/734511
Comments: 61
Kudos: 32





	1. So Near and Yet So Far

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [Nightscrawl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nightscrawl/pseuds/Nightscrawl/works) for the beta, and [ The Winter Wren](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWinterWren/pseuds/TheWinterWren) for supplemental Iron Bull information.

[](https://imgur.com/9qidEQi)

“Oh, In _qui_ sitor? Is that you? Could I have a moment?”

I cast another _don’t notice me_ spell and picked up my pace, trying to make it to one of the few places in Skyhold where I knew no one would demand my attention.

Skyhold. The first time I saw it, glittering like a fantasy castle out of an adventure tale, I was impressed. At a distance, it looked pristine and not of this world. Later, there were things that didn’t quite add up, particularly how Solas came to know of it in the first place, let alone how he conveniently happened to remember its location precisely when we needed a new base. His stock answer of _I saw it in the Fade_ was getting old even then. But that wasn’t my concern at first. Like Dorian, I just wanted to get out of the damned cold.

Up close, it had been a wreck, long abandoned. There’d been something strange about it even in its most dilapidated state. Outside its walls, the mountaintop it perched upon was in a state of perpetual winter. Even on its nicest day, the snow never completely left. But within those walls…it wasn’t _warm,_ but it was tolerable. It never got colder than that stage of autumn when there’s a snap to the air and you bring out your next-warmest coat and long-sleeved shirts. Air got through, and precipitation turned from snow to rain. At the higher levels of the fortress, the wind was almost constant.

The magic involved in keeping the cold at bay was deep and complex, and for it to be a perpetual set spell that held after maker knew how many centuries was remarkable. But no one remarked on it. Not even mages who could undoubtedly recognize just how incredible that spell was. Even Dorian, who was normally curious about any- and everything magical, had paid it no mind. Of course, as far as he was concerned, the temperatures at Skyhold were still appallingly cold.

Three days ago, in a fit of boredom, I spent an entire day worming my consciousness into the framework of magic that wove through the massive complex. I ignored the weather spell as too large and complicated—even a cursory glance confirmed that—digging instead for whatever was causing that lack of curiosity and discovered a spell that, magnitude aside, was almost identical to my familiar _don’t notice me_ spell. It didn’t make anything invisible—it just made people overlook whatever it was cast upon. That made me wonder what else we weren’t meant to notice. 

In the meantime, I was trying to avoid my adoring (or at least insistent) public.

I could have simply gone to my quarters and warded the door for privacy, but I didn’t want to. They were too drafty and empty. Instead I slipped into the pub through the back door, cadged a few bottles of beer from Cabot’s elven assistant, and took a back stairway that led to a window that let out onto the roof. I walked to my usual spot and sat. Uncorking the first beer, I cooled it with a quick freezing spell and finally relaxed. The view from the roof was spectacular, if you went in for vast vistas of snowy mountains. I was sick of it.

A few minutes later I heard the creak of a window casing, nodded hello as Sera sat down next to me.

“So…narked or just knackered?” she said with a smile.

“Both, really.” We’d been friends long enough that I knew what she was asking. “I’m tired, yeah, but I’m also cross. All anyone wants me to do anymore is make nice to every Orlesian twat that wants to be able to say they came to Skyhold and lunched with the Inquisitor.”

“So tell Josie to back off with all her poncey mates. It’s not like we need their money anymore, yeah?”

I took a healthy swallow and sighed. “We do need their bloody money. I have been told repeatedly and in great detail how much money it takes to keep this enterprise running. Particularly when we technically have sweet eff-ay to assign people to.”

“Sounds stupid to keep everyone on just faffing about. Can’t you just tell ‘em _Coryphy-shit’s dead, go home_?”

I snorted. “Apparently not. At least, not according to my erstwhile advisors. So I just wander around here waiting for the next masked moron who wants their arse kissed.”

“You _are_ in a mood,” she said, eyes wide. “You miss him.”

“Of course I miss him.”

“He’ll be back.”

I sighed again. “Not soon enough.” 

_He,_ of course, was Dorian Pavus: my best friend, lover, and the man who was keeping me sane and relatively content with my increasingly pointless position as Inquisitor. A group of our people had run across something strange that appeared to be highly magical, of Tevinter origin, possibly involving an ancient form of necromancy, and still active out in the Western Approach. They’d requested magical consultation, and Dorian was by far the most qualified and logical choice to help. I wanted to accompany him, but there had been a damned meeting Josie was adamant I attend. Since the other attendees were Empress Celine of Orlais, Queen Anora of Ferelden, and the High Advisor to King Markus Pentaghast of Nevarra (the king himself being too feeble of both body and mind to attend), I couldn’t exactly blow it off.

So I went to Orlais, made nice with the heads of state, signed a few treaties and demanded others be revised before we’d touch them, went to a couple of state functions that were mostly dull, got reminded how much I hate Orlais with its masks and air of smug superiority, and was back in Skyhold before the week was out. 

It took longer than that for Dorian to _reach_ the edge of the Western Approach. He still had to do whatever was necessary and travel back. With him gone, I was noticing just how dull both Skyhold and my job had become. If it wasn’t for Sera…

I finished that thought aloud, saying, “At least you’re still here. I mean, I like the others well enough—mostly—but I can’t talk to them the same.”

Sera gave me an oddly guilty look. “Yeah, about that…”

 _Shite._ “Don’t tell me you have somewhere to be, too.”

She cracked her knuckles, examined her fingernails. “Well, like you said, there’s fuck-all happening here right now, and a Jenny thing came up. It’s just in Northern Ferelden, but means maybe a fortnight I’m gone.”

“Well that’s just lovely.” I laid back on the roof, looked up at the cold, clear sky.

Sera squeezed my shoulder. “Poor Kai.”

I made a sour grunt of agreement. 

“You could meet some of the little people. You know—the regular folk that work here?”

“Most of them are terrified to talk to me. Besides, I don’t want to meet new people,” I complained. “That’s all I bloody _do_ is talk to people I don’t know.”

“Yeah, but they’re all posh twats,” Sera said dismissively.

“Doesn’t matter. I’m sure some of the people who work here are fascinating, but I don’t want to take the time to find that handful that are.”

“Not even the other mages?”

“Not even. Most of them act fucked around me too. And just because they have magic doesn’t mean we’ll automatically like one another.”

“Catch up on your reading, then? You’re always on about how you never have time to read.”

“Not in the mood. Maybe I’ll just get drunk and stay drunk.”

“You’d be a proper fright by the time Dorian gets back,” she said with a snicker. She dropped into an exaggerated imitation of a drunk, rasped out “ _Amatush! Kish meeeee!_ ” and collapsed into giggles. 

I smiled and sat up. “All right, maybe not _all_ the time. But this is wretched. Some Satinalia.”

“Balls, that’s coming up too, ennit?” 

“Uh huh. It only just dawned on me. Maybe I _will_ stay drunk.”

Rather than argue it with me, Sera changed the subject, telling me about the latest news from the Red Jennys as well as gossip she’d gotten around Skyhold and a handful of new jokes she’d learned. It was exactly the sort of conversation I needed to have—something that had nothing to do with politics, protocol, and how nice it would be if I could get up a little earlier and maybe consider wearing a _little_ colour.

By the end of my second beer, I was feeling more like myself. Sera was one of the few people aside from Dorian who was able to pull me out of the depressive loops I sometimes thought myself into. I’m sure I was a pain in the arse at times, but she was nice enough not to say so. I thanked her for the talk and, while she climbed in her window, went back the same way I’d come up. I could have gone through Sera’s quarters, but that would mean going through the pub to leave, and I wasn’t feeling cheerful enough to deal with the many calls of “Inquisitor!” that would accompany that.

I got a few more bottles of beer, stashed them in my pockets, and made my way to the kitchens. Cadged a sandwich from one of the cooks, once I convinced her I really didn’t require an entire meal be cooked especially for me. Took the back way up to my quarters (we’d had one of those dwarven-made lifts installed) so I didn’t have to hear more _Inquisitor_ s coming from the hangers-on that spent all their time eating and gossiping in the main hall like a swarm of unusually friendly mosquitos. And like mosquitos, the majority of them were parasites.

Lighting the fireplace with a thought, I settled into an armchair, ate my sandwich, drank my beer and read until I was tired enough to go to bed. My quarters were silent but for the crackling of the fire and the ubiquitous sound of the wind outside. It had gotten stronger as the night progressed, was now gusting and howling, rattling the windows behind my heavy curtains.

It sounded of emptiness and death.

I climbed into bed, hoping that cheery thought wasn’t a harbinger of nightmares to come. When Dorian was there, they were infrequent, but between the wind and the emptiness of the room, I’d probably be better off just hoping I wouldn’t remember them. 


	2. Cinquain

When I woke, it appeared my hopes had been rewarded—I had a vague feeling my dreams had been odd, but remembered nothing of them. I cast a small spell that would alert the kitchen I was in dire need of coffee (since most people found being personally alerted by magical means unsettling, it just rang a specific bell down there) unwarded the door so the servant could enter, and retreated to my private washroom. That washroom had been one of the first additions I’d insisted go into my quarters, and as far as I was concerned, was one of the best perks about being Inquisitor.

When I emerged, a tray had been placed on my coffee table containing coffee (appropriately), a large, frosted cinnamon bun, and an envelope. The first two items were expected, but not the last. It was silly to think it would be from Dorian—it wouldn’t have had time to get all the way to Skyhold unless he sent it from someplace on the way to the Western Approach—and it didn’t look like any envelope I’d received before. 

I poured a coffee and examined it. The envelope was small and square, the paper thick and textured, and it was a delicate shade of purple. There was no address, no return address…nothing but  


Kai Trevelyan

written in an elegant, spidery hand I’d never before seen. The wax seal on the back was equally unfamiliar. I entertained the notion for a moment that it was booby-trapped, and going to release some sort of lethal spell or poison upon opening. The envelope was clean when I scanned it in the magical spectrum, so I decided to take my chances.

It contained one thin sheet of paper, both coloured and scented with lavender. It was no love letter, though. The same elegant hand had written:

Hidden  
In ferrous deep  
The journey commenced. Should I  
be found, secret paths to sublime  
reward...

I looked everything over again both normally and magically, but that was all there was: the envelope with my name on it, and a poem that read like a riddle. But if it was a riddle…why? _To get sublime reward, singular,_ I answered myself, studying the wording. “Journey commenced” suggested this was the first of a series, if I decided to play.

I seriously considered torching the envelope and getting on with my day, but…doing what? The same tedious routine I’d been doing since Dorian left? Or my second alternative, hiding from that routine by getting drunk and staying that way? At least this would be something to do, something different to think about. And if it was telling the truth, I’d even get a prize for solving it.

In addition to the puzzle the poem was giving me, I could also try to find out whose handwriting that was, and who had envelopes and a seal like that. Perhaps I could find the writer before they finished their game. That wouldn’t win me the promised reward, but it would make me feel terribly clever.

Speaking of clever…obviously I was expected to find something, which meant the sender considered it findable. Given the brevity of the poem, “ferrous” was my clue. Ferrous meant ‘containing iron’.

Back in Haven, there had been iron deposits all over the bloody place, but not Skyhold. Logically, then, the places to find iron were the armoury, the forge including the supply room where the ore was kept, the blacksmith, and…on The Iron Bull? I didn’t think ‘ferrous deep’ meant to look _in_ The Iron Bull (at least I hoped not). The possibilities kept me occupied through the rest of my coffee and beyond. As usual, my first stop once I ventured out of my ( _vast, empty_ ) quarters was Josephine’s office to find out how many Orlesians she wanted to inflict on me that day.

As usual, she was already at her desk when I walked in. I sometimes wondered if she just lived there. Seeing as she actually kept an old-fashioned bathtub in the office, one couldn’t completely discount the notion. She was sorting through a stack of papers, pausing now and then to make a note on the separate sheet attached to her clipboard. She gave me a bright smile as I approached.

“Inquisitor! Good morning. You got here just in time.”

I took one of the chairs in front of her desk. “You’ll forgive me if that sentence strikes fear in my heart. I really don’t feel sociable today.”

She kept smiling, but didn’t quite manage to stifle her sigh. “Don’t worry, Kai, I’ve no one for you to coddle over canapés today. Just some new policies to look over and sign. Also a few requests for help to consider.”

“No newly discovered rifts that still need closing? Good. Have you got a list for me?”

“Of course.”

There were layers to that ‘of course’. First, the very idea that she’d be listless was unthinkable. It also contained a mildly critical jab at the hours I chose to keep, and some justifiable pride. I looked over the paper she handed me.

“Why is there a request for the Inquisition to dig a new well on the Montmarte estate?”

“Lord Montmarte claims our passage through the far corner of his estate on the way to the Arbor Wilds and back disturbed his aquifer, and now his well water tastes tinny.”

“You aren’t seriously considering this?”

She smiled. “I just thought you should see it. In case he feels the need to come to Skyhold to discuss it.”

I snorted and kept reading. “Are we interested in this request from Orzammar because the earthquakes seem hinky, or because it’s disrupting the lyrium supply?”

“Both, really.” Josie consulted her notes. “The earthquakes have also weakened the seals to keep the darkspawn out.”

“That’s a Warden thing.”

“You know they’ll point out you banished them from the land.”

I sighed. “For fucks sake, I did that when Corypheus was still able to affect them for the safety of them _and_ us. What idiot decided that meant forevermore? If Wardens need to be involved, bloody well get some down here.”

“Easier said than done. We’ve indications there are problems up at Weisshaupt.”

“Of course there are. Fine. Send someone to talk to this Shaper—” I glanced at my list, “—Valta. See if it’s worth it. I’m really not keen on underground adventures.”

She made a note. “Neither is Varric.”

“Tell Cullen we are not importing Mabari to start up a dog corps. The troops have little enough to do without adding more.”

“I did not say that was Cullen’s request.”

“You didn’t need to.”

“Training would occupy at least a few of them?”

“To what end? So we have some bloody great dogs around here to make the Fereldans feel at home?”

She smiled faintly and made another note.

The rest of the list was fairly straightforward, and I was able to burn through it in just half an hour. Josie seemed satisfied with my decisions, not even suggesting Leliana provide a second opinion. Duties dispensed with, I was able to excuse myself. For once I had the rest of the day to with as I wished.

I stopped in a quiet corner to read the poem one more time, decided my first stop should be the armoury. It had the most possible spots to hide another envelope (at least I assumed that was what I was looking for). It wouldn’t seem at all unreasonable for the Inquisitor to have a look at operations within Skyhold, though I had to admit it was something I’d only done infrequently. Normally I trusted the people I’d delegated to run the structural and fabrication facets of the Inquisition to do their jobs, since they knew far more about them.

There was a moment of surprised scrambling when I entered the armoury, but it didn’t take long until they delegated one of their members—a muscular young elf named Saskia—as my tour guide. In the quiet since Corypheus was defeated, they’d repaired and fabricated a great deal of armour and weaponry. I made appreciative noises about the workmanship while keeping an eye out for envelopes, particularly when inspecting anything involving iron. She also showed me the fabrication rooms (they were hot and sooty and loud), the storage rooms for the raw materials, and a much cooler and more pleasant gallery where they displayed the many designs available. It was more interesting than I’d anticipated, but there was no envelope. 

It did make me realize the blacksmith was unlikely, as there was too much chance the envelope would end up burnt.

That left The Iron Bull. 

I couldn’t see how the envelope would be on him. If he was in on whatever game this was, it was possible, but there was simply no good reason for me to be pawing through his clothes while he was wearing them. Nor did I want to.

That left his quarters. But if the envelope was in there, would I be breaking and entering? I puzzled over that as I strolled in the direction of the building that housed both him and his Chargers. As long as the door was unlocked (I told myself), I wouldn’t be breaking—only entering. And it wasn’t like I was looking to steal anything of his. I simply needed to retrieve an item that had been placed there for me. Yes, I might have to look through some of his things, but I promised I wouldn’t pay any attention to them. He was probably in on it anyway, otherwise he’d have noticed it and…given it to me or put it in plain sight or something. He was Ben-Hassrath. He probably knew the name of every dust mite in his room. 

Besides, if I didn’t find the envelope, the game whoever-it-was had planned would be over before it really began. They’d even written poetry. I owed it to them to continue.

By the time I found myself climbing the stairs to his tower room, I’d successfully rationalized my need to look. Nevertheless, I cast a _don’t notice me_ spell before turning the handle. It was unlocked. Belatedly I realized it might not be a good idea to barge in without checking, called, “Bull? Are you there?”

No answer. I called his name one more time, waited a little more than a reasonable amount of time, decided he wasn’t there. After casting a small alert ward to let me know if anyone touched the door, I slipped into the room and stood just off to the side, studying the layout.

It was very neat. Not the kind of clean that would be considered obsessive, but very orderly. One of those “a place for everything, and everything in its place” rooms, which made sense, given both his military background and the added difficulties having only one good eye brought. Venhedis, for all I knew the Qun beat you for excessive slobbishness. The idea of a set place for everything certainly fit with their philosophy.

There were thick, tastefully embroidered tapestries on the walls, and thick rugs on the floor in front of the fireplace and next to the bed. All sensible safeguards against the ubiquitous cold. The bed itself was big enough to accommodate his frame—including the horns—with room left over for a companion. I wondered where he’d gotten it, and how difficult procuring it had been. There were two heavy chests, a small dresser and a wardrobe against one wall, weapon and armour racks by another. All the other walls had bookshelves, and they were full. The final (and unexpected) embellishment was the pillows. There were pillows of all sizes and colours everywhere. The bed, the oversized chairs…even the rug before the fireplace held a neat stack of them. It made the room look comfortable and cheerful.

The books were the most sensible place to hide an envelope, but there were so many of them. I’d been hoping to get in, find the thing and be out within a few minutes. The poem said “deep in ferrous”…did that mean I was supposed to dig? That really didn’t strike me as a good idea.

Feeling like a criminal, I stepped further into the room. There were no envelopes of any sort lying in plain sight. Maybe _Deep_ was part of a book title? I started searching. After ten minutes that felt like an hour, I still hadn’t found my quarry, but discovered Bull had a far-ranging and eclectic taste in reading material. There was everything from erotica (which I’d expected) to a thick tome on how to knit just about anything knittable. Even Varric’s books had a space on Bull’s shelves.

Even though my ward told me no one was standing behind me, I couldn’t help checking as I moved towards the far end of the room. The fireplace was to the right, in the farthest wall from the door. Deep in his quarters, you might say. I scanned everything as I walked past, but I was nearly sure the fireplace was my goal. It had a mantel on which Bull had put some decorative items, and above that was a framed painting of a seascape with a fog-shrouded island in the distance. I wondered if it reminded him of Seheron. He’d had a terrible time there, but people are funny that way.

I lifted each item that might be big enough to conceal an envelope, careful to put it back in its place, without success. Finally I studied the painting. At first glance, there was nothing, but then I saw what might be a sliver of pale purple sticking out from behind the frame near the top. Whoever this bastard was, they were going to make me work for my prize.

I’m sure the moment I was to say this in a room full of people, someone would loudly point out an exception to the rule that they’d personally seen, but on the whole, mages can’t fly. At least, I’ve never met one who could (I don’t count Morrigan, who could shapeshift into a flying creature, because she is unique in her magical parentage and education). But it is possible to hover. That’s not proper flying—it’s just using a kinetic spell to push away from the ground. Flying would involve lateral as well as vertical movement, which is exponentially more difficult. Which is a rather long-winded way to say rather than look for a chair to stand on, I cast a force spell to levitate myself to the top of the frame.

Painfully aware what it would look like if anyone were to enter the room at that moment, I cast a small light and felt a little thrill of accomplishment as I pulled gently on the corner I’d spotted from below. A pale purple envelope identical to the one I’d received with breakfast came loose from behind the frame. I didn’t take time to read it; just stuck it in my coat pocket as I dismissed my light and descended back to the floor. Relieved, I made it one pace before my ward alerted me that someone was at the door.

Bull stepped into his quarters and we both stopped in our tracks. He tilted his head to the right, said, “Hey, boss. Something I can help you with?”

I knew damn well my face had probably gone an interesting shade of red (sometimes I seriously regret having such fair skin), but had to think fast. “I was looking for you and…” I shrugged, waving my hand around in an all-encompassing gesture. “I saw your books…”

He broke into a slow grin. Everyone knows I have a habit of reading anything I can get my hands on.

“I apologize,” I continued, “But I’ve rarely seen a collection as eclectic as my own. Even I don’t have books on knitting.”

Bull laughed. “You never know what might come in useful. Besides, this was worth it just for the look on your face when I walked in. What did you want to ask me?”

That was a damn good question. “I know you’d been talking about taking on some independent jobs with the Chargers now that the Inquisition doesn’t have much on its dance card. I was just wondering if you’d made any solid plans, since we’ve had a request from Orzammar to investigate some sort of underground disturbances, and I’d likely ask you along if you hadn’t any previous commitments.”

I thought that was a damn good answer.

Bull chewed at the inside of his lip. “Underground? Not my favourite sort of job.”

“Nor mine. It could turn out to be unnecessary—Josie’s looking into it—but given we keep finding Qunari involved in these underground operations…”

“Any sort of timeline? We weren’t going to look at any major outside work until after Satinalia.”

“I won’t agree to anything before then. I want Dorian back with us before diving into any new undertakings.”

“Very funny, boss.”

I made a sketchy bow. Of course Bull caught my terrible pun immediately.

“If you really want me along, I can keep my options open until you get word from Josephine, but it won’t break my heart if you decide to take someone else along for muscle,” he said.

“You know damn well I value you for more than your ability to pummel things into submission.”

He grinned again. “Nice turn of phrase, boss.”

I rolled my eyes. “I’ll let you know as soon as I have any solid information. I, um, should go now.”

“By all means.” He stepped to one side, elegantly gestured to the door.

I stopped in the entrance. “Again, sorry. I shouldn’t have snooped.”

He shrugged, looking amused. “That’s what I get for having an open door policy.”

“Well, thanks anyway. I really don’t make a habit of nosing around people’s private quarters.”

“Unless they’re Dorian’s,” he concluded with a smirk.

I snorted, gave him a wave goodbye, and retreated with as much dignity as I could muster. 


	3. Triolet

Miraculously, I managed to make it back to my quarters without getting waylaid by anyone. I chilled a bottle of beer, settled into an armchair and finally looked at my prize. The front of the envelope read  
Kai – Stage Two  
There was another message on the back  
✔Stage One – Well done!  
So far, so good. I opened it to find the same lavender paper with a new poem. 

Some secrets remain so, others come to light  
Are the reasons divine, or merely chance?  
Ravens keep their council, see all, take to flight  
Some secrets remain so, others come to light  
Poison, daggers, guileful words, whispers etched in blackest night,  
And even through darkness, still they dance  
Some secrets remain so, others come to light  
Are the reasons divine, or merely chance?

If that didn’t have something to do with Leliana, I’d eat my hat. She was all about secrets, and ravens, and the divine. However, the thought of sneaking into her quarters was terrifying. I wasn’t sure if Bull bought my story or was just humouring me, but at least he was amused. I didn’t think Leliana would feel the same. Fortunately, the inclusion of ravens suggested I’d be looking in the loft area above the library that she’d taken over as a combination office and rookery. It was still technically her personal space, but in a much less personal way. I hoped all the talk about dancing through darkness was just poetic license.

Much as I wanted to go straight over there and start searching, I waited. It was still far too early, and the place would be crawling with people, likely including Leliana herself. That left me feeling restless and missing Dorian, who’d be having a grand time interpreting the clues. I was preoccupied enough that I made the mistake of leaving my quarters through the front door. Within moments, I was hailed with the dreaded, “Oh, Inquisitor! May we have a word?”

I stopped, pasting on a vaguely polite expression as two masked Orlesians descended on me. One was short and fat, the other tall and thin. I half expected them to launch into a comedy routine (and would have been happier if they had). I said, “Something you need?”

The tall one said, “I was wondering, Inquisitor, now that the Inquisition is, shall we say, between causes, if you—that is to say the Inquisition, not you personally—might be persuaded to provide aid in a, um, _territorial_ affair. What with all the financial support my people have provided to the organization over these years of strife, we find others have encroached on our rightful holdings and—”

I held up a hand in a _stop_ gesture. “I’m afraid you’ll have to take that up with Madame Montilyet and Commander Cullen. I have no jurisdiction over financial and military matters.”

“But if you could perhaps put in a word…”

I shook my head. “I’m sorry, it doesn’t work that way. I don’t deal with finances or private contracting, and the Commander has better and more up-to-date information on where and how troops are able to be deployed. You’ll have to take it up with them. Just put in a request for an audience, and they’ll get back to you.”

He continued to sputter, but his companion shoved in front of him. “I have no need of troops, Inquisitor, nor would I request them for a mere local dispute.”

Even with the masks, I could see the other man giving him a death look. “And what is it you _are_ requesting?”

“Just a _petit_ favour. Practically nothing. You see, I am in possession of information that would be of great interest to the Divine Victoria.”

“Then just as I told your friend, I suggest you request an audience with her,” I said blandly.

“Ah, but that, _mon ami_ , is the problem. The waiting list to have an audience with the Divine, it stretches into the months now. As a loyal supporter of the Inquisition, I have been away from Orlais for some time, so I was unable to get a request in.”

Loyal supporter, my arse. I recognized him as one of our hall rats. He’d shown up several months earlier, and spent all his time hanging around the great hall, gossiping and eating the food the Inquisition provided our “noble guests”. I still wasn’t sure where they all slept; kept imagining them slinking into spaces between the walls at night.

I sucked in my cheeks, gave a heavy sigh. “Well, I’m sorry to hear that. It might be best if you return to Orlais. If you can get on the list, you might benefit from a cancellation. You see, I can’t contact her any more quickly than you from here.”

“I thought—perhaps you’ll be travelling there soon? You could simply put a small word in?”

“I’ve no plans to go anywhere near Orlais. Divine Victoria is busy with Chantry business, and I’ve nothing to do with the Chantry.”

“But you’re—that is, you were—the Herald of Andraste.”

Good way to piss me off. “I never claimed to be. I’m a mage. I’ve nothing to do with the Chantry. Sorry I can’t help you. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” I gave them a polite nod and escaped. 

I grabbed dinner at the pub, then hid up in Sera’s room for the next few hours, talking with her and playing cards. I didn’t tell her about the envelopes—there wasn’t a lot to tell, and I kind of wanted to solve the puzzle on my own. When she started yawning, I bid her good night, had a few beers down in the pub, and strolled back to the main hall. It was late enough that the rats had disappeared into the walls for the night. A few guards were stationed in the hall at all times, but it was otherwise empty. Most of the lights had been put out, with just a few torches burning along the walls and the moonlight streaming through the stained glass windows painting coloured patterns on the floor at the end of the hall. It was the only time I really enjoyed the great hall; it felt at once vast and intimate. 

I closed the heavy wooden side door quietly, climbed the stairs to the library. As I passed through it to the next stairway, I reflexively looked at the alcove where Dorian had spent so much of his time even though I knew he wasn’t there. For a moment I felt his absence like a physical thing, moved past it like I moved past his alcove.

The top floor was never completely silent. The many ravens that worked as message carriers for the Inquisition and Leliana’s vast spy network didn’t all sleep at the same time. Even this late, the sounds of rustling wings and corvid complaints and comments were a constant in the background. I didn’t know and didn’t want to know how they dealt with the birds’ waste, but assumed there was a magical element to it, because it never rained down on the lower floors.

Aside from the ravens, there was no one present. The flame in Leliana’s altar to Andraste always burned; otherwise the only light came in through the diamond-paned windows and the opening at the top of the tower where the birds entered. I cast a _don’t notice me_ spell and a low light then commenced searching. The altar was both the easiest and most obvious spot to start.

The altar wasn’t overly elaborate—just an alcove holding two tall sconces for the eternal flames, two taller statues (one holding a sword, the other a chalice), a low table, and a scene set in a carved wooden cabinet of what I took to be Andraste and a supplicant. Interestingly, though only Tevinter held that Andraste was actually a mage—something the South vehemently denied—the robes and staff the Andraste figure were equipped with looked very magey. The book on the low table turned out to be a copy of the Chant of Light; I don’t know why I felt mildly disappointed. I flipped through it, but no envelope fell out. The rest of the alcove was just as empty. I sighed, wondering if I’d be expected to climb into the high rafters to check raven cages.

"He didn't understand what _is_ corrupt and what _isn't_ corrupt."

The voice came out of the darkness to the left of me, nearly making me jump out of my skin before I realized it was “Cole?”

“To do nothing--to do _nothing_ is corrupt. To do nothing, yes, it's weak to do nothing.”

I stepped toward him, blinking as my eyes adjusted to the dimmer light. “Who are you talking about?” I didn’t expect a straightforward answer, but once in a great while he’d provide one.

“She chose not to be weak; he didn’t understand the light in her eyes. He left to do nothing, and she forgot that strength attenuated becomes brittle.”

This wasn’t one of those times, obviously. “Is there something you wanted, Cole?”

“You helped her remember doing nothing and not doing something aren’t always the same. That was a good thing.”

“Um. Thank you?”

“A piece of _her_ knows. He’ll always come back. She can do that much.”

“That’s nice.”

He looked at me intently. “Yes. It is.” His eyes shifted away. “I should go. I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

Even though I watched him walk away, he seemed to melt into the shadows before he reached the staircase. As usual, the conversation—if that’s what it was—left me feeling as if I’d walked in halfway through a complicated play and been told to take my place onstage without knowing the script. 

I went back to searching. One thing I’d learned over time was trying to interpret Cole’s more cryptic statements was nearly pointless. They’d either suddenly make sense when the time was right, or they’d remain shrouded in mystery. Asking him to clarify never worked. I’d just try to remember what he said, and remind myself whatever it was, I appeared to have done something right. 

A stack of papers piled neatly on the table Leliana normally sat at had no envelope hidden in their midst—they were status reports on her nugs and their antics. I enjoyed chatting with her about them; it made her feel more human. She was often so driven, so focused on her spywork and her faith, it was difficult to connect with her. Knowing she also had pet nugs and a passion for shoes gave me avenues to get through her self-imposed armor.

I was again wondering if I was expected to climb into the rafters when I spotted it affixed to the side of a crate that had been sitting in the same spot since the Inquisition moved into Skyhold. It was in front of another painting (of a fellow on horseback about to blow a hunting horn and looking rather apologetic about it), but I had no idea if that was significant. Once again I stuck it in my pocket and retreated to my quarters. It was late enough, I decided to leave opening it for breakfast. At least it gave me something to look forward to.


	4. Limerick

I didn’t get to the envelope the next morning because there was already a larger one set next to my coffee when I emerged from the washroom. It was addressed to me in Dorian’s crisp handwriting and thoughts of poetry perished before they were formed. I dismissed the magical seal and settled in to read it over breakfast. 

_Dear Kai,_  
  
_You remember how dreary the trip to the Western Approach was? I’m dismayed to inform you it’s gotten, if anything, rather more dreary. Even taking the Imperial Highway as far as possible, I could swear the journey was longer this time. Perhaps it was the company, or lack thereof. I shared my coach with a fellow we picked up in Windrip, down at the foot of the Frostbacks._

_What’s Windrip, you ask? (Feel free to join in and ask here.) It’s a nasty little collection of huts bookended by an inn and a lumber mill. As the charming name suggests, it’s nestled in a narrow not-quite-valley that was apparently designed to channel the coldest wind from the mountains above straight through it. How this aids in their lumbering efforts is beyond me. Even casting heat spells every waking moment, I still spent our entire time there on the verge of hypothermia._

_In any case, the fellow I mentioned is not a native of that bustling metropolis. He’s a researcher from the University at Markham (practically your old stomping grounds!), name of Siegward Bleich. (No, really!) “Sig” for short. Sig is convinced the Western Approach is a place brimming with wonder, and didn’t care to listen to my tales of ill-tempered reptiles and sand. He’s refreshingly open-minded about Tevinter, but isn’t interested in anything that happened less than a thousand years ago. Very dedicated to his ruins, is our Sig. Not a bad fellow, but very reminiscent of trying to converse with Solas, in that he has his interests and doesn’t care to explore new ones._

_So the trip has been one in which I’ve learned far more than I ever wished to know about the history of the region and the most mouldering of ruins one can imagine without ever having actually seen one. This is Sig’s first field trip, you see. Or is that “trip into the field”? Does it matter?_

_But enough about my enthusiastic companion. (Really. Enough.) We’ve finally reached our destination, which means he’ll be whisked away by the other archaeological enthusiasts to study remnants of walls. He seemed uninterested in hearing about the sites I’d already seen there (I trust you appreciate my clever wordplay), so I refrained from attempting to point him in their direction._

_Today I met with Commander Britt, who briefed me on the problem I’ve been charged with solving. Her troops were overseeing a clean-up operation, removing a deeply entrenched nest of Venatori who were carrying on maker-knows-what sorts of magical shenanigans far away from prying eyes. It appears they overestimated their abilities—as the Venatori have been known to do—and the resultant explosion created what, for want of a better term, might be referred to as a crater of Venatori soup._

_Unfortunately, this is magical soup. They thought the blighters had all perished in the explosion. They had, after a fashion. But of late, they’ve been crawling out of the crater of soup. They’re at least partially bonded with the stuff, they glow a sullen orange-green in the dark (that colour scheme alone is ghastly), and when they’re not attacking and eating whatever bits of the living they can tear off with teeth and nails, they appear to be attempting to communicate._

_Commander Britt is hoping, since they are technically dead, I might be able to establish communication with one or two of them. Or, should that prove unfeasible, that my magic will prove to be more effective at eliminating them and the crater of soup._

_It’s a challenge worthy of my talents, at least, but I do wish you were here. Not only for your companionship (and undeniable physical charms --wink wink --), but for your talent and the twisty way you think. You’d probably have them agreeing to immolate themselves once I set up communications. Either that, or we’d end up helping them set up an embassy._

_I must be going now—we’re heading out to the crater at some dreadful hour of the morning that would no doubt give you fits. So it’s an early meal, a few hours of prep, and to bed. I shall be thinking of you as I lie in my tent, sand and grit and ill-tempered everything surrounding me, and it won’t improve my mood one bit because I am here and you’re in Skyhold making nice to puffed-up Orlesians and no doubt resenting every minute of it._

_I love you so much it’s quite unseemly. Try not to offend too many Orlesians, and I’ll be back as soon as I brilliantly solve their little undead problem._

_Be well, amatus._  
_Your_  
**_DORIAN_**

My first impulse was to write him a response immediately, but given how long it would take to reach him, that was pointless. Instead, I read it over a few more times before trudging downstairs to find out what Josie had lined up for me. Dorian’s letter sustained my good mood all day, through reading sets of deadly dull treaties, lunch with an Orlesian noblewoman who looked about a thousand years old and talked about her dead relatives throughout the meal (food sticking to her teeth the entire time), and Cullen agitating at great length about how a dog squad would be a grand addition to the Inquisition’s military ranks.

Skyhold offered little in the way of entertainment, so I went to the pub that evening and ended up in a game of Wicked Grace with Sera, Rainier, Bull and a few of his Chargers. I didn’t win, but I broke even so I was content. Afterward, I spent another hour talking to Rainier. He felt he needed to see his former men and further atone for the disgrace he’d visited on all of them, but also felt guilty to be abandoning the Inquisition. I think by the end I had him convinced no one would see it as abandonment and he should do what he felt was necessary. 

I was tired and a little drunk by the time I got back to my quarters, so I read a novel for a bit, switched to Dorian’s letter one last time and went to bed.

_=#=_

I was busy most of the next day with a seemingly endless stream of people with questions. They weren’t coordinated; it just appeared everyone who’d stored up a question for me decided to ask it that day. I didn’t really mind because there was a great deal of variety to them, and some of them were rather challenging. After dinner I was invited to a rematch of Wicked Grace, and that kept me occupied for much of the night. By the time I remembered the envelope, it was getting late and I wanted to be able to pay it proper attention, so I read Dorian’s letter again and went to bed without looking at it.

I spent the next morning wondering how Dorian had handled the undead Venatori, and if he was done handling them yet. Despite not being a fan of the Western Approach, I also felt a little jealous that he was getting to do challenging things that demanded his magical talents while I was doing a lot of handholding, reading deadly dull documents, and pretending I enjoyed talking to people who mostly bored me. The previous day’s spate of interesting questions had been a happy anomaly; this day was back to the normal grind. Along with the underground thing Josie was checking into, there was something from an Orlesian professor about academically interesting things in the Frostback Basin that had just come in. I was hoping that might turn out to be something worth making a trip for. Anything was better than this political _kaffas_.

That afternoon I saw Sera off as she left for whatever mysterious thing she had to do for the Jennys. She’d kept her departure quiet, so it was just me and Dagna there to say goodbye. I got a grin, a thanks and a quick, friendly hug. Dagna got a passionate kiss, a hug that swept her off her feet, and an admonition not to worry. I said _I gather you two are an item._

Sera laughed while Dagna grinned, blushing. Sera said, “Now that you know, you can keep an eye on Widdle. Make sure she doesn’t go mad with missing me.”

I said, “How do you know _I_ won’t? With Dorian gone, you were my last island of sanity in this place.”

“Then you should keep an eye on each other,” she declared. “See you in a fortnight!”

Dagna and I heaved nearly identical sighs as we watched Sera ride away, then looked at one another for an awkward moment. 

I said, “Widdle?”

She rolled her eyes. “I know, but you know how it is. It’s as in ‘little’ because, you know, dwarf?”

I nodded. “I thought as much. Well. I should get back to work.”

“Me too.” She sounded relieved. “If you want anything, you know where I am.”

“We could always grab a drink sometime.” 

Chances were good we wouldn’t, and we both knew that. It wasn’t that we disliked one another—we just didn’t know each other well enough to be completely casual. To her, I was more Inquisitor than Kai. Still, if we got lonely enough...We said variations on “see you later” and went our separate ways.

_=#=_

There was no Wicked Grace match that evening, and Sera was gone. I didn’t really feel like talking to anyone else, so I cadged some bottles of beer from the pub and took them to my quarters. Not for the first time, I wished there was some way to have music playing without having to bring musicians in—the sound of the wind blowing incessantly outside got depressing after a while. I finally remembered the square, purplish envelope that was waiting for me on my nightstand.  
I fetched it, read the front  
Kai – Stage Three  
and on the back  
✔ One  
✔ Two

I wondered what would happen if I found an envelope out of order. Was someone keeping track of my progress, or had this all been set up beforehand? And how long ago had it been set up? I opened the paper:

A mother they deemed wise and blessed  
Came to Skyhold, "to help," she professed,  
"But Tevinters should leave."  
And the tricks up her sleeve  
Left Inquisitor quite unimpressed.

I couldn’t help laughing—they hadn’t even tried to make this one obscure. Mother Giselle was by all reports a wonderful woman. She stood up to Chantry brass in her determination to feed the poor of her home city of Jader without regard to race or class, claimed to have no prejudice against mages, helped the poor and sick, braving war zones to get to them…and everything about her set my teeth on edge. Her most unforgiveable transgression to my mind was her attitude towards Dorian. She’d disliked and distrusted him purely because he was Tevinter, without trying to get to know anything about him. She’d spread rumours about him, and when it became clear I was fond of him, about his “undue influence” on me. I was convinced she’d had a hand in contacting his father in an attempt to get him shipped back to Tevinter.

I’d also clashed with her over the whole “Herald of Andraste” nonsense. She’d admitted she had her doubts about my being that, but despite my emphatic objections, was all for lying to the public about it in order to drum up support. There were other things that were less obvious, but what it boiled down to was a personality clash of epic proportions. When I was around her, it was all I could do to remain civil and respectful. Something about her made me want to be sarcastic and crude, like a badly behaved adolescent.

The thing is, I’d gotten the distinct impression many times that I annoyed her just as much. She remained civil and respectful, too, but she always developed an edge to her voice that wasn’t present around others. Some of the things she said to me danced on the knife edge of condescending sarcasm, but were always just on the side of plausible deniability. At times I thought she was hoping I’d react, just so she could point out how strident and unreasonable I was.

I avoided her as much as possible.

And now I was being told the next clue was somewhere in her vicinity. She had a small office off the back courtyard, though she spent most of her time outside in the courtyard and gardens. Apparently she thought people would feel more comfortable approaching her in that setting. Naturally, the office doubled as her quarters. She’d been offered proper quarters, but refused them saying she had no need for such luxury. It was right up there with Solas’s mad insistence on going barefoot in every kind of weather and terrain. Both were just oh-so-stereotypically-perfect it made me want to slap them upside the head.

Which led to the question: how was I going to get into her office to search it? It was too much to hope the envelope would be in the chapel a few doors down; I assumed they were going to make me work for it. If I tried to slip in during the day, it would be a miracle if she didn’t see me. Her door was visible from every corner of the courtyard and gardens. And at night she was there, sleeping. Or crouching in the middle of the floor, gimlet eyes glowing in the dark as she sucked soul essence from those sleeping in the rooms above and around her, for all I knew.

A _don’t notice me_ spell wouldn’t disguise her door opening and closing. If I layered an illusion spell of the closed door over it, maybe? Then a ward to let me know if she was approaching, though it wouldn’t help much. I’d still have to escape the room, which didn’t have a back door, and there’s only so much illusion magic can do when someone’s paying attention. I could wait until she was asleep, then cast a heavy sleep spell on her…and with my luck, the envelope would be affixed to her cot in some way, or she’d be immune to sleep spells, or she’d react badly to it and become a drooling vegetable or never wake back up.

I imagined Dorian’s voice saying patiently, _honestly, amatus, all you need to do is wait until she’s at prayers._ Imaginary Dorian was right, of course. I was overthinking. She did that to me without even trying—I lost all perspective when it came to Giselle. All I needed to do was find out when she went to prayers. I wondered who to ask. I had as little to do with Chantry stuff as possible, and had made no secret of it. I asked Imaginary Dorian, but he had no idea beyond a hesitant, _Varric?_

Varric had returned to Kirkwall to write his book about what had happened from the formation of the Inquisition to the defeat of Coryphytits, so that wasn’t an option. Besides, if he was still at Skyhold, he’d want to know why I wanted to know. A servant might know, but I wouldn’t know which to ask. It seems silly, but I didn’t want it getting back to Giselle that I’d been asking after her in any way. I concluded I’d need to watch her. The least noticeable way to do that (that didn’t involve obscurement spells and lurking in shrubberies, anyway) was chess. It had become something of a thing in Skyhold—there being, as I said, little in the way of entertainment—to play chess on the colonnade overlooking the gardens. I’d been known to play on occasion, so it wouldn’t look out of place.

I set my brilliant plan into motion. My first opponent was a steward who seemed a little cowed at first to be playing The Inquisitor, but once the game got going she forgot to be nervous. She was also fiendishly good, and won despite my best efforts. She didn’t even have time to give me a rematch, though she promised one later. Within fifteen minutes I had another opponent who wasn’t quite so formidable. I kept an eye on Giselle while I played.

The first thing I discovered about the celebrated Chantry Mother was her daily routine was staggeringly dull. All she really did was wander around the gardens, sitting occasionally, and talked to those who approached her. Once she joined a man on the colonnade. They sat at a small table and drank tea while they talked. A while later I thought I was in luck as she went into the chapel, but she was out in moments with one of the cheaply bound copies of the chant of light they stored within. I started reconsidering that sleeping spell.

Finally, as late afternoon turned into early evening, Giselle made her way to the blasted chapel and _stayed_ there for about twenty minutes. I finished my current game and begged off a rematch, saying I’d been playing so long, I could no longer think well enough to continue. It was mostly true; I couldn’t remember the last time I’d played that much chess in one day. I grabbed dinner at the pub, then at their invitation joined Bull and his Chargers, mostly staying quiet while they traded jokes and stories and good-natured ribbing. I ended up getting to bed at a sensible time because I didn’t have anything better to do.

_=#=_

Late afternoon of the next day, I was back on the colonnade, sitting in an out-of-the-way corner reading a cheap circular that claimed to contain _Real Tales of the Inquisition as Tolde By Someone Who Was There!_ Whoever it was, they apparently spent their days fighting a vast array of monsters, retiring to the nearest village each night to bed grateful, lusty wenches. Now and then I looked up to see if Giselle was still hovering around the gardens; her Chantry outfit made her easy to track. In the middle of _Virgin Sacrifice for the Red Templars_ , she sailed across the grounds and into the chapel.

I closed the circular with the fate of the virgin still in jeopardy, cast a _don’t notice me_ spell and walked casually over to Giselle’s office/quarters. The door was unlocked; apparently Bull wasn’t the only one who believed in open door policies. Checking first to ensure no one was looking, I slipped into the office. It was windowless and dark as pitch, so I cast light.

Unsurprisingly, the room was painfully neat. It contained a two-drawer desk, two upright chairs, a skinny wardrobe, a wooden chest, and a small bookshelf. There were two shelves mounted on the back wall with toiletries, personal items, towels and a few decorations, and a foldup cot propped against the wall. A painting of Andraste (I assumed) hung on the left hand wall. I checked it first, but there was no envelope affixed to it. The desk held a blotter, some stacks of paper, a pen and inkwell. The bookshelf had the expected Chant of Light, but also several books on history and herb lore. Candles on most of the horizontal surfaces would provide light. I tried to imagine where I would be if I were a small purple envelope.

I gave the shelves a cursory glance; they appeared to be where she kept her regularly rotated items. The chest was locked, and the wardrobe held a heavy cloak, two more chantry outfits, two nightgowns (thick, sensible flannel), fleece slippers, and a pair of equally sensible shoes. It didn’t appear she owned any normal clothes, unless those were locked in the trunk.

That left the bookshelf and the desk. If it was there, did that mean I had tacit permission to snoop? Virtuously, I examined the bookshelf first, giving each book’s pages a quick flip-through. Nothing fell out but an old bookmark. Acutely aware I was running short on time, I sat at the desk and eased open the top drawer. It was shallow but wide, and held a scattering of pens, nibs, two cloth napkins and a full set of cutlery. I felt around for a secret panel, but came up empty. 

The final drawer was long and deep, and half full of binders. I figured the best method for checking them was to flip through them like the books, but stack them carefully face down as I finished with each so I could put them back in the same order. I went through four of them quickly—from what I saw, they were mostly lists of supplies she needed, names of Chantry people, that sort of thing. Not that I was trying to read them. 

The fifth was more like a large notebook, bound in textured red paper. It looked older than the others. I started to leaf through it, but it fell open on its own. About halfway through, the envelope was planted firmly between pages. I pulled it out, stuck it in a coat pocket…and noticed my name in the passages on the page. I told myself I shouldn’t look. It was private, even if I didn’t like the owner.

Imaginary Dorian said _Don’t you think they put the envelope there for a reason?_

He had a good point. They could have put it in any of the binders, or somewhere else in the room. As it was, they were taking a serious chance, sticking it in her notebook. I simply couldn’t imagine her being a knowing participant in this quest.

Imaginary Dorian said _So what’s on that page could be important. You’re not going to read the whole thing, after all. If nothing else, you don’t have time._

I bowed to his imaginary wisdom, looked more closely at the page. It was…not exactly a journal. More a series of notes. I only closely read the ones that appeared to pertain to me or things I considered important:

  * After the events in Val Royeaux, we cannot look to Chantry support for this young organization. I will stay to help however I can despite that and the betrayal of the Seekers. It is a worthy and necessary cause  
  

  * Trevelyan has proven to be more competent than anyone dared hope. However, he is also…difficult. Strong-willed, opinionated, and vehemently against anything to do with the Chantry. I try to keep in mind that this has much to do with his time in the Circle; he is one of those who deeply resent it, and likely is correct that it was unnecessary. Not sure how to handle his stubbornness. Won’t listen to reason about accepting the “Herald of Andraste”. I don’t believe Andraste had a hand in choosing him either, but the people do, and we need to use that. Spoke with the Left and Right hands about it—they said be patient and humor him. There’s nothing he can do about the popularity of the title, so it doesn’t matter.  
  

  * The Tevinter has, with Trevelyan’s enthusiastic approval, joined the Inquisition. Worse, they are allowing it! The mad elf girl was a dubious choice, though I’ll allow her heart is in the right place, but to trust this Tevinter is beyond the pale. What next – Qunari?  
  

  * Giselle, when are you going to learn all is within the realm of possibility that is within the Chant of Light? Qunari were next. Well, one, along with a band of mercenaries, but given the one has admitted he is a spy for the Qun… I wish Trevelyan was open to some spiritual guidance. I approve his acceptance of all races, but there is such a thing as reasonable caution.  
  

  * Along with our new beginning at Skyhold is a new title: Inquisitor. At least that should make Trevelyan happy—no more ties to Andraste. Not enough that he allowed the T. into the Inquisition…he also appears to be getting romantically involved! People are noticing, but no one does anything about it. No one will even broach the topic with him. Of course, having that glare of his turned on you can be unsettling. But to happier topics—there’s a very nice little chapel here I believe can be restored  
  

  * Still haven’t uncovered anything, but it is _too much of a risk._ I am not the only one who feels this way, but still none of them will take the concerns seriously. It starts with Trevelyan, but even Seeker Pentaghast is unconcerned. It is troubling, but one must be practical in times of strife. What will it take to get them to listen?  
  

  * I sent the letter with a pack of others heading north. The courier assured me she knows Tevinter and will see to it that they get it. Also ensured warm clothes and supplies will be delivered to the latest group of refugees. _Souffle du Maker_ , there are so many!  
  

  * Maker help me, if this is a test put before me, may I have the patience and good sense to prevail. I have tried, but I must admit… _I do not like him._ He is not a bad man. He is honourable, intelligent, creative, a good leader. And there is something about him that grates on my nerves even when we speak of trivialities. It’s not just his unhealthy attachment to the Tevinter. It’s _him._ I shall pray to Andraste to give me the strength to remain civil.  
  

  * She’s back, and it went as I’d prayed. It will be better for all this way. Can’t approach the Tevinter directly, will have to do it through Trevelyan. Careful wording. Don’t allow a moment of thought that this is anything other than a meeting. Keep in mind he might very well go straight to the T. with the letter despite request that he not. After all, I think he dislikes me as much as I dislike him. If Andraste wills it, the problem of the T. will soon be out of his hands.



There was more, but I’d read enough. I had also been in her room dangerously long. I set the notebook and ledgers carefully back in the drawer, ensured nothing was out of place. I paused at the door, listening, and felt a thrill of panic as I heard her speaking right outside. I couldn’t make out what she was saying, but the cadences of her voice were unmistakable. I had no choice but dismiss my light and stand in the dark off to the side in case the damn door opened. She talked, and talked, and talked for what felt like an hour but was probably ten minutes. Ten minutes during which I realized I was starting to need to use the facilities, just to make matters worse. 

The door handle rattled.

The door itself opened a crack, and Giselle’s voice came clearly, “Andraste herself could not give a better blessing.” 

A woman replied to her and she laughed. “Are you sure? I suppose I have nothing that won’t wait. _Bon,_ tea would be welcome. I must admit the chill has been trying to soak into these old bones this day.” The door closed again, and the voices receded.

I felt a wave of relief, but still needed to get out of the damned room. I eased the door open a crack, saw no one nearby. Couldn’t wait any longer. I cast _don’t notice me_ and opened the door just enough to slide out, shutting it quietly behind me. Walked away like I was just passing by. One man nearby was looking at Giselle’s door with an expression of confusion; a moment later he gave his head an abrupt shake and walked away.

Figuring I’d used up the last of my luck for the day, I wasted no time getting back to my quarters. Once I was able to sit down and relax, I enjoyed a feeling of vindication. Mother Giselle _had_ been the one who contacted Dorian’s parents in an attempt to get him out of the Inquisition. I’d never entirely forgive her, but I wasn’t angry about it anymore since she’d lost that war. I was also correct in thinking our distaste for one another was mutual. Oddly, it made me feel better. Now that I knew for sure, I could pretend to be civil knowing she was doing the same. 


	5. Nonet

A servant delivered the sandwich and coffee I ordered, then I warded my door and examined my prize.  
Kai – Stage 4  
The front told me I was still following the correct order. Barely glancing at the checklist on the back, I opened it and pulled out the paper.

Perversion of love leads you down, down  
Twisted time, inexorable  
emptiness. Don't look away.  
Around and around. Why?  
Black on white remains.  
Is it enough?  
You have time.  
Do you  
dream?

If, like the others, it was something trying to tell me someone, that someone didn’t sound like anyone in my inner circle. I felt like I should know it immediately, but I was drawing a blank. “Twisted time” could be an allusion to Dorian, but he wasn’t there. “Perversion of love” could loosely refer to what his father tried to do to him, but Halward Pavus was in Tevinter and not likely to drop in with a purple envelope for me. Had anyone else perverted love lately? If they had, it sounded like it hadn’t gone well for them.

I puzzled over it through my entire sandwich and longer. Even sat down at my desk with pen and paper, wrote a list of people at Skyhold, tried to match lines from the poem to anything I knew about them. All that accomplished was to prove to me that I didn’t know much about most of the people at Skyhold. I finally gave up, picked up a book instead, but I couldn’t completely concentrate on it. There was that feeling still niggling at me that the answer was staring me in the face and I was too dense to see it.

Too restless to continue sitting in my (annoyingly Dorian-less) quarters, I went back outside (avoiding the gardens), studying people as I passed them in case one of them jogged a memory. I was sure it wasn’t one of the hall rats or servants, because I didn’t know any of them well enough. I considered whether “do you dream” could pertain to dwarves, since they supposedly don’t, but then the answer to the poem’s final question would be a blank “no”, which would kill any emotional impact.

I’d not been doing anything but playing politician for the past few months, which undoubtedly added to my restlessness. I needed to keep in shape both physically and magically, and I’d slacked off both lately. Fortunately, we had a mage tower and plenty of skilled mages living there who were more than happy to spend a few hours down in the practice rooms sparring with anyone who cared to participate, including the Inquisitor. By the time I finished I was tired and sweaty, but in a much better mood. Some of the mages who’d challenged me were damn good. Not as good as Dorian, but a few gave me a run for my money, reminding me I’d gotten out of practice. I left the tower and wandered the grounds, not yet ready to return to my quarters.

Perhaps predictably, my wandering took me to the pub. I knew more people there (I rationalized). I supposed The Iron Bull could be accused of perversion of love, but his cheerful flings with anyone who was interested were certainly not leading him _down_ anywhere. Besides, I’d already gotten an envelope from his quarters. I drank beer, assessed people, and listened to Maryden sing relentlessly about the exploits of the Inquisition until I couldn’t take another minute of her repertoire. You’d think she’d find some new subject matter now that we’d defeated Coryphytits and didn’t have much in the way of new heroics, but you’d think wrong. It was late anyway, so I left rather than cast a silence spell on her. At least between the exercise and the beer, I’d get a decent sleep.

_=#=_

I was determined to figure out the clue the next day, but fate intervened in the form of Josephine and her ever-present portable tablet. She had someone waiting to pounce when I left my quarters out the back way, so I had no choice but to attend the meeting she’d called. It was in the war room, but they’d brought in chairs and arranged them in a friendly circle in front of the table. I’d been agitating for chairs for years (they’d only previously caved when I was too badly injured to stand for long periods), but this worried me. 

Leliana was there looking unusually cheerful. Cullen was seated next to her, sulking in that ratty lion skin of his. The others in the circle were people I was casually acquainted with but never really talked to. Josie gave everyone a bright smile.

“Now that we’re all here, I’ll get this started.”

“What _is_ this?” I asked.

“Satinalia, Inquisitor.” Another blinding smile. “This is the first one since Corypheus was defeated. The Inquisition must have something special to celebrate it.”

“Decorations, invite our friends and allies, entertainments, and of course a feast,” Leliana said with happy enthusiasm.

“What does any of that have to do with a military presence?” Cullen groused. I wondered what he’d been pulled away from that was making him that cross, not that I was thrilled with the prospect.

“Security, Commander,” Leliana said. “If even half the guest list comes, Skyhold will be a madhouse. Someone will have to keep things under control.”

“We also thought you could have a few of your best put on some demonstrations. The Fereldans and Orlesians both eat that up, particularly if we let a few of them enter as challengers to the Inquisition’s best,” Josie said. “A sort of mini-Tourney.”

“It would not just be soldiers, either,” Leliana took over again. She turned a smile on Fiona, head of the mages still at Skyhold; I hadn’t even noticed her sitting there. “We’re hoping a few of your people might be persuaded to do a magical demonstration. Nothing too dangerous, of course. Just something to impress the crowd, and show that mages aren’t just easily possessed killing machines.”

“I…Inquisitor?” Fiona said.

I shrugged. “It’s up to you and the others. I have no problem with showing people the Chantry’s dead wrong about us.” I shot a pre-emptive glare at Josie and Leliana. “Though I draw the line at doing any demonstrations myself.”

“As do I,” Cullen quickly interjected.

Josie didn’t exactly roll her eyes, but her expression left no doubt she was close to it. “Duly noted, gentlemen.”

I said, “Leliana…you said if half the guest list comes. Does that mean you’ve already invited them all?”

“Of course,” she replied, unruffled. “People have to be able to plan. We’ve also spoken to the closest villages about supplies and accommodations.”

“Given our relatively new status as a major power, it’s expected that we would do something splashy,” Josie added. “We started preliminary planning the week after you defeated Corypheus.” 

“We left it until the end to drag you in to meetings, but there are a few aspects that demand your attention,” Leliana explained.

“But you don’t really need me for anything at the moment, do you?” I asked. “I assume I’m just to sign the odd thing and do a _welcome to Skyhold, happy Satinalia_ speech?” Truthfully, I was in no mood to think about Satinalia. Dorian wouldn’t be back in time and even Sera was absent, so I mostly anticipated feeling lonely and unsocial. Making nice to a load of ‘important’ guests was at the absolute bottom of my want list. 

“We will try to keep your social requirements to a minimum, Inquisitor, however we would appreciate your input for this planning committee,” Leliana said. Her tone was pleasant enough, but the narrow look that accompanied it left no doubt my premature departure would seriously piss her off.

So I sat there for two hours, listening to the minutiae of party planning. They got a dwarven artificer named Fimor on board when they brought up fireworks, and soon everyone else was offering festive (and often impractical) ideas. My only consolation was Cullen remained as underwhelmed as I. By the time the meeting broke up, I was feeling mentally exhausted and missing Dorian. If he was there I could have made a thousand clever observations that he’d appreciate, but I’d found out the hard way that, given my vaunted status (or so I assumed), other people had a bad habit of misunderstanding my sense of humour, choosing to take everything I said seriously.

It was a relief when the meeting finally broke up, though I did have to commit to attending another before Josie and Leliana would let me leave. I cut down the stairs that led to the basement of Skyhold rather than face the hall rats—one could reach the grounds via one of the kitchens, or duck into the little library, which was what I opted for. I’d put an illusion over the hall just behind the door to make it appear as cobwebby and dusty as the day I’d discovered it. It worked quite well as a deterrent, though Dorian figured out my little ruse nearly as soon as I’d put it in place.

Missing him yet again, I dropped into the comfortable chair I’d installed, grabbed a bottle of beer out of the stash I kept, cooled it and pulled the poem out of my pocket. This time I didn’t try to think about it, just read it and allowed my mind to wander. It had been my birthday when Dorian found me hiding in the little library. He’d made a rather melancholy day something special. It wasn’t even the flirting we’d been indulging in back then—it was knowing that he honestly cared about _me_ , not the Inquisitor, and wanted to spend time with me. It had been a better birthday present than he could imagine.

And thinking about Dorian, and time, and loneliness, and the ephemeral quality of caring for others flicked something on in my mind. I read the poem again, and it still sounded right. I downed my beer, flash-dried the bottle so the empty wouldn’t smell, and exited Skyhold’s basement through the kitchen.

_=#=_

In the basement of the mage tower was a room. It was fairly large, and mostly filled with books and research materials. One section had been walled off to create a smaller room in which was a narrow bed, a chest of drawers, and an elderly nightstand. There was only one entrance to that room, and only one inhabitant. 

It was normally Dorian who visited; I hadn’t set foot in the room for a good half a year, if not longer.

I felt this would be a different sort of search because of that. At least I hoped so. I’d been remiss in neglecting this place, this man. Though it wasn’t technically necessary, I knocked before entering. I neither expected nor got a response; it was merely a courtesy.

I passed a short gauntlet of bookshelves that formed a foyer of sorts. Magelight illuminated the room—unheard of in the South, still, but commonplace in Tevinter, Dorian assured me. A table of blonde wood stood to my left, three of the four chairs around it untenanted.

Gereon Alexius occupied the fourth. He regarded me incuriously, resignation written into his very features, it seemed. A tome was open before him, but the notepaper to one side of it was blank. He said, “Inquisitor. Can I help you with something?”

“Mind if I sit?”

He gestured with indifference. I sat, angling the chair so I could talk to him comfortably. I wasn’t sure what might get through the shell he’d built around himself, but felt it important to try. I said, “Thank you.”

His face twitched in what might have been supressed sarcasm. “It’s your property. No need to thank me.”

I half-smiled back. “I assure you, Skyhold is not my property. We’re just borrowing it for a time. And for a time, this small piece of Skyhold is yours.”

“I think my cage has all the gilding it can take for the moment, Inquisitor.”

“Kai.”

He frowned, confused.

“My name is Kai, not Inquisitor. I’m not here in an official capacity, so please. Kai.”

His face was a study in suspicion. “As you say. Is…there something you wanted?”

“To apologize, really. I won’t lie—I’m here because I’m searching for something, but I realized I haven’t even asked how you’re doing.”

“Why would you? I made my bed; I’ve no one but myself to blame if I find it uncomfortable. What are you searching for?”

“An envelope. It would have my name on it. It’s kind of purple.”

“Purple. What will they think of next?”

I searched for something to say. “You know Corypheus is dead?”

He gave a wry smile. “Oh, yes. A great many people were sure I’d want to know. I’m glad he is. That creature was a threat to all of Thedas and I was a fool to believe there was anything benign about him.”

“Desperation does strange things,” I said.

“Believing in the curative powers of blessed waters or dancing naked covered in nug blood under the ghost moon is strange. What I did was stupid and destructive.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Did you try the others first?”

“I wasn’t quite _that_ stupid.”

“Rather a pity you didn’t spend some time investigating those avenues in hindsight, but what can you do? We’ve ascertained turning back time doesn’t work out well.”

His face crimped into a scowl for half a moment, then smoothed into a sardonic smile. “True enough. Dorian mentioned your sense of humour. He comes to see me at least once a week when he’s here. Keeps me up on what’s going on in the world. Not sure why he bothers, but I appreciate it. You’re welcome to tell him that.”

“I think he knows, though he might like it if you told him yourself. But what about you? It’s a long time you’ve been here now.”

He sighed. “You want to know if I’m still the same frothing fanatic I was when you put me to work here? Felix is dead. My wife is dead. So is that man who tried to save them. I was a fool to look for answers in blood and hatred and power games. I have no good excuse. Deep down I knew better, and in the end even my dying son was driven to spend his last days trying to stop me. I wasted that time, poisoned what little was left. I truly was hoping you’d just execute me and let me join them, you know.”

“I know. I don’t execute people without a damn good reason.”

His smile was incredulous and real. “You don’t think what I did was good reason?”

“We stopped it happening and stopped _you_. You chose the worst fucking path you could to accomplish it, but the root of your stupidity was a desire to save your son. Love perverted to something awful. I gave you the benefit of the doubt because Dorian told me about the man you used to be—how you were kind to him when he desperately needed kindness and stability—and because you have the capacity for love. Maybe that makes me a fool, but at least you had a motivation other than ruling the world.”

“I was willing to kill you and rest of the world.”

“I know. And you know now it still wouldn’t have saved Felix.”

He nodded. “I hated you for keeping me alive, you know.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Past tense? That’s encouraging.”

“I’m still not happy about it, but…you were right. Felix deserves better than that.”

“He does. He was a good man.”

The look Alexius gave me was an odd mix of pleasure and embarrassment. “He was, wasn’t he? Do you know I barely even registered that he’d grown up? Dorian told me repeatedly, but I didn’t want to listen. Now you tell me that, and you barely knew him.”

“It would have been a pleasure to become better acquainted. But I repeat: What about you?”

He frowned. “What _about_ me?” 

“The Inquisition isn’t going to last forever, so what happens to you when this ends?”

“That’s not up to me,” he said quickly.

“It will be. I’ll not tell you what to do. Do you want to go back to Tevinter? There are a few circles I can think of that would welcome someone of your ability if you’d rather stay here.”

“I…” his head dropped, “I don’t know. I’ve not given it any thought.”

“Well, why don’t you?” I kept my tone pleasant. “This isn’t going to end right away, so you’ll have time to think about it. I promise I’ll follow up.”

“You don’t need to. Dorian can tell you. You really think they’ll allow you to let me just…leave?”

I gave a slight shrug. “Technically, what did you do? Because Dorian and I thwarted your plan, nothing actually happened and only we saw how dreadful it would have been had you succeeded. You used questionable magic to suck Fiona and her mages into signing on with you and the Venatori under false pretences, and attempted a takeover of Redcliffe that failed. As far as I know, it’s not acceptable to give someone a life sentence for bad behaviour and worse decisions. We’ve really no good reason to hold you now that you’ve renounced your allegiance to the Venatori and Corypheus is dead.”

He stared at me as if this was the first time we’d met, shook his head slowly. “Dorian’s right. You _are_ good. You’ve nearly got _me_ convinced. But why this sudden desire to be so decent to me?”

“Dorian’s told me a lot about you. He’s told me you’re magically brilliant. I’m wondering if you’d feel inclined to talk about something other than how utterly shite the last few years have been, because I’d love to learn from you.” 

“I’ve got nothing,” he gloomed. 

“Bullshit. Dorian doesn’t lie.”

A reluctant smile. “No, he doesn’t. But you’ve got _him_ to teach you.”

“And there’s nothing you can tell me that he doesn’t know? You do realize I’m not going to let you get away with that. I’ll keep visiting you. I’m patient, and you’re rather social by nature. Even when you lost your shite, you joined a group rather then become a lone, misunderstood fanatic.” I leaned back in my chair and stared him in the eyes. 

“I only joined because it was the most practical way to accomplish…” he trailed off.

“You believed a lying pusbag because you refused to admit the truth. Please don’t do that again. What do you _do_ down here?”

He blinked, perhaps nonplused by the change of subject. “Research.”

“Lot of demand for that, is there?”

His smile was sardonic and honest. “No, but I discharge my duties first. Then I plot revenge.”

“That sounds very healthy…as long as I’m not a target.”

“And if you were?”

“I’d have to keep visiting you until you changed your mind. Dorian accuses me of relentless decency; I’d bring it full force on you. When I first sent you down here, I left it to Dorian to keep up with you because of your past, but I shouldn’t have.”

“That was fine. I always liked Dorian. Halward shouldn’t have treated him like that.” 

“On that we can agree.”

He nodded, made a noise that might have been amusement. “ _Venhedis_. Guess I have to admit it. You’re not a typical Chantry-addled southerner, and Dorian’s lucky to have you. I can’t claim the same regard for your Inquisition, though.”

I shrugged. “It’s really not _my_ Inquisition. I’ve a major role in dictating how we go about things, but I’m far from the only one making decisions. It’s a constant juggling act.”

He nodded. “I don’t envy you that.” He drummed his fingers on the table. “And I’ll be damned if you haven’t earned this.”

He reached into his jacket pocket, handed me a by-now familiar envelope. “I can’t tell you who, but they said if you were able to convince me you’re really not a bad sort after all, I was to give you this.”

I took it, surprised that that was apparently my test, and thanked him. “I’m still coming back to talk to you properly, you know,” I admonished.

“Looking forward to it, Kai,” he replied. I wasn’t sure if he meant that, or was being ironic.


	6. Rispetto

I returned to my quarters to open the envelope. It was the same as the others, except on the back they’d written  
Well done! You’re almost there!

“The prize better be worth it,” I told the envelope, pulling out my latest clue. 

Worlds within words within worlds in walls of stone  
Sometime sanctuary from sanction and guile  
Words within worlds writ in black on slivered bone  
A throne of blood velvet placed with approved style

Days lead to nights and aloneness together  
Wine, whine, dross, gravitas, magic and whether  
it makes any damn difference in the end.  
Nights, words, worlds and magic between you both blend.

I had no doubt the poem was about Dorian and me, and little doubt about the location it wanted me to visit. Before I’d finally talked him into moving into my quarters, Dorian had a squidgy little room that only had space for a bed, a wardrobe and a chest with his belongings that didn’t fit in the wardrobe. He’d chosen it because it also had a fireplace. Due to the lack of space, he’d taken to spending all his time in the library; had staked out a comfortable alcove and claimed it as his own. While not the “blood velvet throne” of the poem, his alcove did hold a very nice red-upholstered chair. 

Within days of his taking over the alcove, I’d taken to visiting him there. I was interested in him from the moment we met, and not just physically. He was a fascinating man in every way, and there was no one else I felt as comfortable talking with. We’d always nearly effortlessly understood one another. He stayed in the library most nights until he was ready to go to bed, which fit my hours well. When I was done playing Inquisitor for the day, I’d often join him there. He’d have a glass or two of wine (I had beer) and we’d talk about whatever caught our fancy. Sometimes it was about what was happening with the Inquisition, but more often it was about something he’d run across in one of the books, or just things we found interesting or amusing. Sometimes we didn’t even talk much—just sat in companionable silence, reading or enjoying the quiet. Those hours with Dorian were some of the best times I’d had.

Damn, I missed him. I had a momentary urge to drown my sorrows in a few drinks, but it was late and I had a puzzle to solve.

All I had to do was go to the library and…what? The ‘words within worlds’ lines had me worried I was to look through every book until an envelope fell out. Or I might have to talk to someone, as I just had with Gereon Alexius. Hopefully, with the chaos brought on by the Satinalia preparations, I’d be able to slip into the library unnoticed. Pleased with myself for solving the poem so quickly, I went to bed.

_=#=_

“Inquisitor!”

I had to cross the main hall to get from my quarters to the library door, and that was my downfall. I stopped and pasted on a look of polite interest, hoping it was one of the hall rats I could easily blow off. No such luck.

“Madame Montilyet wants to see you in her office,” the young page reported breathlessly. 

“Is it important?”

The boy looked stricken. I’m sure to him anything Josie said was important, so I took pity on him, told him not to worry, I’d go directly there.

Josephine looked up from a stack of papers as I approached. She had her ready-to-be-annoyed look on. “Inquisitor! Thank you for stopping by. Poor Alain has been searching for you for an hour.”

“I just got up. I’ve only just finished my morning coffee.”

She didn’t quite disguise her sigh. “Well, I am pleased that he found you. We have many things to accomplish today.”

“I take it by ‘we’ you mean me?”

She gave me a too-bright smile. “Look at it this way—the sooner you begin, the sooner you will be done. You may as well sit for the time being. There are documents you need to sign. And have you gotten your speech written?”

I stopped in the midst of pulling a chair up to her desk. “Speech?”

She looked at me wide-eyed. “You _must_ make a speech. The guests will expect it. We discussed it at the meeting.”

“Oh. Right.” I sat. “I’ll write it today.”

“Did you want someone to write it for you? I’m sure we can—”

I held up a hand in a ‘stop’ gesture. “No, I can do it. If someone else writes it, it won’t sound like me and they might have me say something complimentary about the Chantry.”

She hesitated a moment before deciding that was a joke, then smiled. “Well, we can’t have that. Now, before we get back to the Satinalia preparations…”

So rather than searching the library, I spent the next several hours mired in bureaucracy and advanced party planning. It was mind-numbing stuff, and this with Josie and her people handling the bulk of everything. First, I had to at least skim everything I was to sign. I’ve never been able to bring myself to blindly put my name to things, even when the document I’m signing bores me to death. I’ve convinced myself if I ever did such a thing I’d accidentally agree to indenture myself to the Chantry for fifty years or something equally ghastly. Once I finished the normal tasks, it was time to dive into the bottomless pit of Satinalia preparations.

The guest list and seating for the feast in the main hall alone was an intricate web of considerations. There was social status, both between delegations and between nobles and officials _within_ those delegations. She had a long list entirely concerning who was currently feuding with who, and how vicious each feud was. There were lists of who had given the most money, and the most trouble, to the Inquisition. There were lists of who we needed to be nice to, and who could be virtually ignored. I had to memorize small but—according to Josie—vitally important updates on the status of family members of our closest allies as well as trivia about said allies that would need to be inserted into small talk when pre-feast cocktails were being served. It was everything about the Fearless Leader role that I despised, all wrapped in a big sheet of frenetic festivity. At least Skyhold didn’t have a proper ballroom, so any dancing would be informal.

“You’ll still be expected to dance the first dance, you know,” Josie said.

I made a face. “Dorian won’t be back. Who are you going to make me dance with?”

“Who would you prefer?”

I smirked. “Bull?”

“Right. You’ll be dancing with Leliana. At least we know she can keep up with you.”

“You’re no fun.”

She looked up from her notes. “You’ve reached your limit, haven’t you?”

I pretended to think about it. “Yes, I believe I have. I can’t be held responsible for puns, jokes, or plays on words from now until such time as you release me.”

Josephine smiled. “I believe we’re close enough to being done. Once you’ve finished the first dance, you’re free to leave as long as you do it discretely.”

“I’ll appreciate that. I already do.”

With that she allowed me to go; she’d likely still be working far into the evening, knowing her. I got dinner then had to spend the rest of the evening working on the damned speech. By the time I finished it, I was mentally spent. Even if I’d still felt like searching the library, I doubt I would have noticed anything that didn’t have a bright light and sign reading “here is your envelope!” attached to it. I leafed through an entertainment circular that had somehow found its way to Skyhold from Cumberland until my head started dropping, then went to bed.

_=#=_

Once I’d consumed sufficient coffee the next morning, I gave a copy of my speech to Josephine for approval, signed two more documents, and was assured there wasn’t anything else I was needed for. I made it two paces into the main hall before “Inquisitor!”

An older elven woman approached me; she looked familiar but I couldn’t remember her name. She said, “I’m sorry to bother you, but are you who we go to about the Satinalia decorations?”

I smiled. “Sorry, no. They won’t let me be involved.”

“They won’t? Whyever would they do that?”

“Well, they know I’d just make everything black.”

Her eyes widened, then narrowed as she likely tried to decide whether I was putting her on. “I’ll just go ask Madame Montilyet.”

“I’m sure she’ll be able to give you better advice.”

She gave me a rather confused smile and hurried off. I hurried the other direction and managed to make it all the way to the library. One of the librarian’s assistants gave me a nod hello, but otherwise everyone left me alone. I went to Dorian’s alcove, sat in his chair to think. It really was a comfortable chair. 

“Words within worlds” sounded like fictional novels, which would be easiest to search—the library had distressingly few of them. Aside from the volumes that had already been in Skyhold, it had been at the mercy of whatever donors wanted to donate, and the Chantry had been its biggest donor. Its contributions hadn’t all been religious, but most of them had been dry, out-of-date history and sociological texts, and biographies of nobles and higher-up Chantry figures. One of our Fereldan supporters had donated more biographies, a collection of travel guides, several volumes of poetry, and an entire series about heroic Mabari hounds. From the Orlesian contingent we’d received a collection of romances written in Antivan, more biographies, philosophical volumes about Andrasteism written in Orlesian, two boxes of elderly magical tomes, a smattering of novels (including three of Varric’s), joke books, some straight-up pornography, and another shelf’s worth of training manuals for a variety of occupations. Dorian had complained about quality of the collection frequently.

Twenty minutes later I’d concluded there was no envelope in any of the fiction novels, and most of those we had were rather awful. I hadn’t used the library much for reading material—every time we had a long enough stopover in a place with bookstores, I managed to purchase a stack of books to be delivered to me—and hadn’t realized how mild Dorian’s complaints really were. Aside from Varric’s novels, the only book that had any potential was one about a Tevinter mage operating as a private investigator in Carastes. I wondered how it had made its way down south. Deciding no one else would appreciate a comedic adventure novel about a Tevinter mage, I went in search of the librarian.

He was in his small office adjacent to the library, making notes in a ledger, and seemed pleased with the excuse to stop. I offered to pay the library for the book or arrange for a donation. He examined it, saying, “I couldn’t in good conscience charge you more than a crown. Not a lot of demand for books painting Tevinter in a good light, and this is the third book in the series.”

“Would you rather have the donation? I see why Dorian isn’t happy with the collection as it stands.”

“That would be wonderful. We’ll take anything you care to give us. Then we can retire some of the dustier volumes about the Chantry back to their boxes.” He jumped as if stung. “Andraste’s navel fluff! Dorian! I nearly forgot.” 

He opened a desk drawer, pulled out an envelope. It wasn’t purple. “This came for you this morning from Dorian. They delivered it here. I meant to have someone give it to you, but you came here first.”

I took it, verified to myself that it was his handwriting and sigil, thanked the librarian and promised to see that he got some more interesting books. I returned to his chair—the poem could wait a few more minutes.

_Hello, amatus!_

_The good news is I have successfully completed my mission here in the Approach! I will, of course, tell you all the gory details when I’ve returned (and some are extremely gory!)._

_The bad news is, we’ve still got to make the trip back, and that means I’ll miss Satinalia. A little bird told me that there are festivities planned, and I urge you to enjoy them! You see, I know you. You will drift through the festivities like a patch of darkness that’s being forced to be polite until you can escape and hide somewhere with beer and books._

_Although my delightfully whimsical yet dashing self will not be there to turn the party into something sublimely memorable, there may still be a few people worth chatting with. I demand that you enjoy at least some of the festivities before you flee; the meal alone should be worth it. Just don’t let Josie seat you next to someone strategically or financially important—those types are invariably unbearable company._

_I’m just pleased I’ll be escaping the relentless sand here at long last. You remember – it gets into everything. So while you are dining and watching the jolly entertainments that have no doubt been prepared, you may spare a thought for me, drudging through bleak landscapes and primitive conditions, constantly finding sand and grit in new, ghastly places as I desperately try to return to you…_

_Shall I pause, or do you have a tissue nearby to catch the involuntary tears that picture evoked?_

_In any case, I still love you with a passion I’ve been told is wholly inappropriate to our social station, and shall continue to thumb my nose at those naysayers. Be good to yourself, and I shall soon grace the halls of Skyhold (among other, more interesting places) again. Making myself entirely too frustrated with thoughts of how satisfying that homecoming will be…_

_I remain deeply_  
_yours_

**_DORIAN_ **

I read his letter over a few more times then, to distract myself as much as anything, started looking through books again. Nearly two hours later, I dropped back into Dorian’s chair, still without a purple envelope. I did feel like I may have developed an allergy to dust, I’d breathed so much of it. The poem was not being as helpful as it had in the beginning. Considering how far afield our conversations wandered, the envelope could be hidden in a book on almost any subject. I also had to consider the possibility I was wrong, or misinterpreting the clue. At the moment the whole thing was giving me a headache.

I left the library, got food, and spent the rest of the night alternating between reading Dorian’s letter and the adventure novel. I decided I needed the rest of the series, even if it meant a buying trip to Tevinter, wondered if I could talk Dorian into such a thing. Surely at this point I could blow off the Inquisition for a month without anything going sideways. It was something to consider, and thinking about it was less frustrating than envisioning that satisfying homecoming that Dorian’s letter mentioned.

Eventually, I slept.

_=#=_

My day started with the second obligatory party meeting. They’d decided my speech was fine, so this one was mostly logistics. People were already starting to arrive, and a few of them were going to need a special ‘hello’ from me to reassure them they were terribly important. While most of the guests would be staying at inns in the villages below Skyhold, those same Important People were being given accommodations in the fortress, which meant some people were being moved out of their quarters into temporary housing on the grounds. Not everyone was happy about that. 

I suggested giving everyone who was displaced a pay bonus and a small Satinalia gift as a thank you. Josie wasn’t thrilled, but agreed. The rest of the meeting was just details, and by early afternoon I was free to pursue my own interests, at least until the Duchess of Lydes and her entourage showed up in the evening. I returned to the library.

Over the next few hours, I learned far more about historical Grand Clerics and Revered Mothers of the Chantry than I’d ever wanted. Dorian hadn’t been exaggerating—one book actually had entries logged tracing the regularity of one Grand Cleric Ephebe’s bowels for an entire year. I discovered the library had half a shelf of recipe books from fifty years ago (lost on me, as I still didn’t know much about cooking), inadvertently overheard a heated argument on the other side of the shelf I was looking at (couple arguing about whether to take Telma up on her offer, which apparently involved cats), and gave myself a paper cut flipping through a heavy tome of alchemical formulae.

Though I healed it right away—even my weak ability was up to that—the cut was the last straw. I couldn’t look through another book, so I left to get something to eat and think about something else. Instead, I ended up reading over the poem again while waiting for my sandwich. I was convinced it was talking about the library, but had to be missing something. I couldn’t think of a book Dorian had particularly liked. When he wasn’t researching, he skimmed, looking for things he found interesting. Mostly he came up with pithy observations about the tragic calibre of book Skyhold considered library-worthy.

By the time I finished my food, it was time to put on clothes that weren’t covered with a fine coating of book-dust and play politician again. I honestly couldn’t see how Josie could stand it, making nice to an endless succession of pompous prats, many of whom were just slightly more intelligent than a bag of gravel and behaved like spoiled, mean-spirited children. I now understood some of the snarkier comments my father used to make about diplomacy. I shan’t go into detail about it, but my little meet and greet stretched on for hours as the Duchess wasn’t the only Orlesian noble to arrive. They all wanted to talk about the terrible weather they’d had to endure, ask piles of probing questions about the Inquisition’s intentions now that we had no clear objective, and try to get me involved in their stupid Great Game.

When I finally escaped, I just wanted to punch something. Preferably something wearing an Orlesian mask. Since that would cause an international incident, I settled for an hour in the sparring room at the mage tower. Afterwards I liberated several bottles of beer from the supplies in the basement, took the back way up to my quarters, got buzzed enough to stop thinking about Orlesians, and went to bed before I could progress to serious inebriation.

_=#=_

I woke with the feeling that I’d just dreamed the answer to the location of the envelope, but the information faded before I could be sure. Disgruntled, I rang for coffee and, once I was presentable, returned to the library. I didn’t have anything else to do until late afternoon, so that gave me all day to…what? Look through more dull, dusty books? I sat heavily in Dorian’s chair, chasing that glimmer of understanding I’d awoken with. 

The diamond-paned window was making diamond-shaped shadows in the alcove. Dust motes floated through the beams of light. Hard-edged shadows of the chair and stacks of books piled by it stretched to the edge of the alcove, where the dimmer light of the library took over. That was part of the reason I’d been getting headaches after a few hours of desultory reading—the lighting in most of the library was dreadfully dim, and it made people nervous when I cast light. I stared at the shadows without really seeing them until…I was probably imagining it, but I thought there was one hard, thin edge that shouldn’t be there.

I got up, studied the rest of the chair and nearly groaned aloud. There was a familiar purplish envelope affixed so one end was just sticking out the underside at the back. I removed it and went the long way around to get back to my quarters rather than risk the great hall again. It was nice enough out I considered sitting on the balcony to open the envelope, but immediately envisioned an errant gust of wind coming along just as I pulled out the poem. It would snatch it away before I read it, depositing it in a snowy crevasse a thousand feet below, and I would never find out what the reward was. So instead, I just opened the curtains.


	7. Tanka

The back of the envelope read  
Penultimate!

It was nice of them to let me know I was almost to my sublime reward, though I did think it was a pity I hadn’t been able to find out whose handwriting I’d been reading all these days. I told myself if it weren’t for the Satinalia planning, I probably would have.

Endings satisfy  
An intimate chat with Death  
Lion unknowing  
Under key wrapped in ivy  
And you dance in the moonlight.

I read it, then re-read it a few more times. Drew an absolute blank. I trusted I wasn’t to take the implications of chatting with Death literally, and did the second line mean someone who didn’t know they were a lion, figuratively, or a lion that didn’t know something? I thought about it until I felt it was just going in circles, finally decided I’d best do something else in hopes that my mind needed some time to sort it out. No doubt Josie had a list of things for me to do.

She did. First, she handed me off to Leliana, who dragged me to Skyhold’s tailor. Together, they _tsk_ ed over my wardrobe. It was the usual progression:

After conferring for a few minutes, the tailor looked at me pleadingly. “Wouldn’t you allow us to introduce just a _little_ colour? After all, it’s Satinalia.”

I replied, “No. Black is fine. And I’ll get this out of the way immediately—no ruffles, no robes, and no sparkly bits.”

“We don’t have time to make you anything new regardless,” Leliana said. “What about shoes?”

“Boots.”

She rolled her eyes. “ _Oui._ Boots. Perhaps some embroidery? Could a mage add some magical…embellishment?”

“Sparkly bits extends to boots, too. I can wear the ones with all the buckles up the sides if that helps.”

She sucked in her cheeks, looked me up and down. “Under the circumstances, yes. That helps.”

The tailor gave me a too-bright smile. “What about a cape? Would you wear a cape? We could make it black.”

“I could wear a cape,” I allowed.

“With a lining?”

“A _lining!”_ Leliana repeated.

They looked at me with such hope. “I’d agree to that. But no loud patterns.”

The tailor grinned. “I suppose I’ll have to put the plaidweave away. Don’t worry, Inquisitor, it will be tasteful and you will look fabulous.”

I smiled. “That’s usually Dorian’s job, but since he’s not here…”

“He would be proud of you,” Leliana assured me.

“So am I done now?”

She shook her head, gave me a sardonic smirk. “Certainly not. The Fereldens will be here in minutes, and you need to lunch with the ambassador.”

I made a face. “Couldn’t Cullen do that? He’s Fereldan.”

“But he is not the Inquisitor. Speaking of Cullen, he has again brought up the usefulness of a canine squad. He will use this fete as another reason to employ one.”

“What good would dogs do at a party? Mabari are huge. They’d make the Fereldens happy and annoy or terrify everyone else. I guarantee, _one_ Orlesian noble gets slobbered on, we’ll never hear the end of it.”

“Be sure to tell him that. You’d best report back to Josie before they arrive.” She walked away with a little wave.

_=#=_

The Fereldan ambassador was a short human woman with deep brown eyes and braided hair that hovered somewhere between auburn and brown. She appeared delicate at first glance, until you watched how she moved. I was willing to bet she was more than capable of defending herself physically as well as in matters of wit and diplomacy.

She’d arrived with only an assistant and four guards; a refreshing change after the Orlesians with their entourages. Despite all the jokes about them, there are some things about Fereldens I like. Their practicality and sometimes artless propensity toward bluntness are often more effective than the carefully choreographed barbs and machinations of the Orlesians and (from what Dorian had described) Tevinters. And they don’t wear masks. I was heartily sick of masks, and inclined to like anyone who didn’t have one pasted on their face.

Lunch was a much more pleasant affair than I’d anticipated. Ambassador Rowland brought up Ferelden’s concerns in brief, concise verbal packages and was willing to listen to me rather than launching into their position right away. I could understand their concerns—they wanted to know what our intent was now that the reason for the Inquisition’s formation was no more, and to ensure that we had no designs on their lands. Given their history with Orlais, I really couldn’t blame them for worrying. Trying to reassure her when I didn’t have the slightest idea what we were intending to do was the tricky part, and she undoubtedly discerned that I was using a lot of pretty words to say virtually nothing. Fortunately, rather than calling me out on it, she moved on to other topics and we had quite a nice conversation.

As we were waiting for dessert, Cullen joined us, no doubt sent by Josie as the highest-ranking Fereldan. His manners were impeccable, and the ambassador appeared charmed. I couldn’t help feeling a trifle nettled, though. After all the hand-wringing I’d had to endure about my own wardrobe choices (if I never heard “just a little colour” again I could die happy), there he was in that ratty lion’s-mane cloak and no one ever said a thing about it.

 _Lion unknowing_ … Damn. Cullen? I studied him while he and the ambassador talked about current events in Ferelden. There wasn’t an envelope stuffed in the fur of his cloak, sadly. But what did ivy have to do with anything? And if he didn’t know whatever it was, there was no point in quizzing him. Sera, my main source of information for all things around Skyhold and beyond, was gone and I wasn’t sure who else I could ask about ephemera like what Cullen and ivy had to do with one another. I became so distracted thinking about it, I nearly missed a question directed at me.

Cullen and I got on well enough, but we’d never gotten close enough to be friends. Mostly due to that whole Templar/mage thing. We knew something about one another’s histories, and there was always a bit of underlying tension because of that. We were also just too different in interests and temperament to ever want to spend a great deal of time with each other. But if I had something to talk with him about, he was approachable.

Lunch ended on a positive note, with the ambassador appearing well pleased by the Inquisition. We bade her good day as a page arrived to show her to her quarters, and I tagged along with Cullen. 

“I’d heard of Ambassador Rowland, but this is the first time we met,” Cullen said. 

“I’m curious about something,” I said.

Cullen gave me a questioning look as we crossed the overpass to his office/living quarters.

“Do Josie and Leliana ever get after you for your cloak?”

He blinked then laughed. “All the time. I think they’d burn it if they could.”

“Good to know I’m not the only one they have issues with.”

We reached his door. “Was there something you wanted?” he asked.

“I thought I should check in with you about the security arrangements for this Satinalia thing,” I lied. It was something I _should_ do, and it sounded better than my real goal of “I want to see if there’s ivy of some sort in your quarters.”

He gave me a crooked smile as we entered. “Still no dog squad, I suppose?”

“I’m more of a cat person.”

He refrained from commenting as he retrieved a map of Skyhold and spread it on his desk. We spent the next fifteen minutes discussing possible threats and logistical problems. While we talked, I scanned his office looking for signs of ivy, but there wasn’t so much as a convenient painting. 

“I think that about covers it.”

“Except for the part where you have to fight off drunken admirers who think you’re cute and available,” I said.

He shuddered. “I’ll thank you not to joke about that. Aside from putting in my obligatory appearance, I plan on spending the majority of this party in my quarters.”

“On that we’re in agreement.” And he’d just given me the opening I needed. “Speaking of your quarters, did they ever fix that hole in your ceiling? They’ve had bloody long enough.”

He glanced up the ladder that led to his room, face going a mild shade of red. “No, it’s still there. I, um, like it that way.”

“I know Skyhold’s climate control spell keeps it too warm for snow, but what about the rain? You just let it rain in your room?”

He went redder, though I wasn’t sure why he was embarrassed. “I have tarps. They work. Mostly. I’ve been told by more than one person that I should make them fix it, but…”

I waited without speaking. It was something I’d learned from my father, who was a master at letting silences stretch out until the other party couldn’t resist filling them.

Cullen glanced at me, sighed. “I have a touch of claustrophobia. It’s not that I’m fond of allowing rain in my suite, but with only one exit, having that open space makes the place comfortable enough that I can sleep there.”

I nodded. “It could be that I could help you with that.”

He cocked his head to one side, much like a quizzical dog. “Claustrophobia?” 

“No. Keeping the rain out without boarding up the space. May I have a look at it?”

“I suppose. Excuse the mess.” He gestured at the ladder.

I climbed with Cullen following, wondering what he’d do if he got injured, or too drunk to climb. Sleep in his office? I made a slow circuit of his room. There were two holes in the roof, at either end of the room. Tree branches were literally growing down into the room from one of them. More importantly, there was ivy growing up the wall behind his bed and next to what looked like a sealed-up door on the other side of the room. I just needed him to leave so I could poke through it at my leisure.

He said, “So what are you thinking? I don’t know that this roof would take a skylight.”

“I know you’ve got some problems with magic, but I could put a barrier over the two holes in your roof. You wouldn’t be able to see it, and you’d still get air coming in, but it would keep out rain and debris. It would just need to be refreshed now and then.” I let him think, studying the ivy above his bed in hopes that I’d see something, but we were standing too far away.

He chewed at his lower lip. “That’s _all_ it would do?”

“What else would you expect it to do? It’s just a barrier spell.”

He flushed again, but bulled ahead. “It couldn’t, I don’t know, open a door to the Fade?”

I managed not to laugh, but just barely. Maker, regular people understand nothing about magic. Thanks to the prevailing attitude toward mages, no one ever told them the most basic rules about how it works. “No. I promise. There’s more chance of Vivienne leaving her post as Grand Enchanter to join a Ferelden dance troupe.”

That made him smile. “Oh. Well. All right, then. It’s not that I don’t trust you. I know you’re very good. I just…as you say. I have a bad history with magic. It makes me a little skittish.”

“I’m not just very good—I’m damn good. I’m a professional, Cullen. All I’d do is cast a couple of simple barrier spells that keep solid objects out but allow air through. If you’d like.” I gave him an expectant look, but didn’t say anything else.

“I…Oh, this is ridiculous. Yes, I’d appreciate that.” 

He deserved credit for getting past his prejudices. I smiled. “Good. Let me know the next time you’re out for an hour and I’ll set them up. I’m sure you can find other uses for your tarps.”

“Oh, there are many uses for a good tarp,” he said with frightening enthusiasm, then paused. “But you’re probably not interested in that right now. I know your preferred hours, so you can come in between lunch and dinnertime tomorrow. Should I pay you? Is there something you’d like in return?”

“No and no,” I assured him. “Just want to help. I’ll come by tomorrow, then.”

We descended from his loft, said goodbyes. I’d have to wait overnight, but I was nearly sure that was where the poem wanted me to go.

_=#=_

I climbed the ladder to Cullen’s bedroom, feeling like I was trespassing even though I had permission to be there. I’d finished the book about the Tevinter investigator the night before, and felt bereft that I hadn’t had the rest of the series there to read. Before I’d come to Cullen’s, I’d put in a request that someone find me the series; I didn’t ask for much normally, so I didn’t feel bad about taking advantage of my position.

The room was military-neat, and he didn’t seem to go in for decorating. He had a wardrobe, a trunk, a low set of shelves, an armor rack and a weapon rack. A couple of large rugs covered most of the wood floor (which had seen better decades), and his bed had been placed in a spot where the rain wouldn’t hit it. I found the room rather depressing, but there’s no accounting for taste. 

To assuage my feeling that I was breaking and entering, I cast the barrier spells first. It didn’t take the full hour I’d requested, but I did have to ascertain the exact dimensions of the holes then construct a magical latticework that would hold across them. Once the spell was set up, it only took a few minutes to cast it, then a few more minutes to add in the supplemental castings to make it a set spell. Now it would remain as long as it was recharged once in a while. Not as exciting and sexy as flinging fireballs about, but I wished people were more aware of the sorts of practical magic mages could provide. Not only do spells like that take a fair amount of practice and skill to do well, but it might make people less afraid and more appreciative of us.

Having done my good deed, I went to the head of Cullen’s bed. There was ivy literally growing on the wall above and behind it (I wondered about bugs, but didn’t think he’d appreciate my asking). To my mind, that was the logical patch of ivy, since the poem mention the lion being under it. Starting at the bottom, I cast light, peered under the bed and behind the headboard just to be thorough, and worked my way up. The ivy wandered to the left as it rose and at the top, shadowed by the leaves of those tree branches he also hadn’t cut away, was a package. It was just a little bigger than the envelopes, made of heavy green paper secured with brown twine to blend in with the ivy. I had to cast a force spell to levitate myself up to it. 

Whoever had put it there had gone seriously overboard knotting the twine to anything thick enough to withstand their knots, but I didn’t want to rip it away from the walls. Cullen might want to know why I was attacking his ivy. For all I knew, he considered it a treasured part of his interior decor. So I swore under my breath and unknotted the damn thing while keeping the bloody force spell going. If my “sublime reward” turned out to be a bookmark and a pair of socks, I was going to be pissed.

I cadged a container of coffee out of the kitchen and made it up to my quarters without being intercepted. The green envelope had also been sealed with wax. I broke the seal and discovered it held a familiar purple envelope and a small blue one that read do not open till satinalia night!

So I turned my attention to the purple one. We’d become familiar enough that the front just read Kai. The back said  
The Beginning of the End!

I removed what I assumed was my last poem.


	8. Naani and Nocturne

Waiting waiting   
Full hall of empty revelers   
Shadowcelebrants   
Time now to ascend 

Below the poem, they’d written an extra message in neat block printing:  
use the blue message. do not open early. congratulations on a journey well-travelled!

If I was interpreting it correctly, I had something to look forward to on Satinalia other than making nice to drunken party guests. I wasn’t sure what—perhaps a private gathering with what members of the inner circle remained at Skyhold?—but it put me in a better mood. Even dessert and a letter from Dorian would be a nice treat. 

Whatever it was, I had two days until I could find out. 

In the interim, I was kept busy playing Inquisitor. I greeted guests, had private meetings with important ones, listened to them complain about any- and everything, particularly the trip to Skyhold and the cold weather. While Josie and Leliana saw to most of the preparations, I refereed several differences of opinion between staff members (the biggest one was where to house the musicians we’d hired—I pointed out we still had more than enough tents and supplies to make comfortable temporary housing on the grounds), tried on and approved the cape (the lining was dark blue with a silvery geometric pattern), signed documents, listened to more complaints, and turned down no less than three offers of marriage from people who hadn’t gotten (or chose to ignore) the message that I wasn’t available.

It was exhausting and nerve-wracking work. There were times I was ready to tell Josie and Leliana I was done and they could handle the rest of the damned party themselves. The only thing that stopped me was the knowledge that I could leave after the dinner and had something mysterious to look forward to.

_=#=_

The official opening day of festivities finally arrived. Like every other day at Skyhold, the weather around the fortress was cool but tolerable. Apparently it had started out rainy and windy, but that had passed. My first duty was to attend the “welcome to Skyhold” luncheon where I’d deliver my speech and officially open the Satinalia celebrations. I had to hand it to everyone who worked on the preparations—Skyhold looked positively festive. The cynical part of me commented it looked festive enough, we’d undoubtedly be attacked by dragons, Qunari, or some sort of angry mountain gods before the night was through. With Dorian and Sera both gone, I didn’t say that aloud to anyone.

My speech—which I won’t transcribe for posterity here—went off without a hitch, and even if they were just being polite, most people seemed to have liked it. They even laughed in the right places. After the lunch, I sat on a podium along with Cullen, Iron Bull and other martially-minded members of the Inquisition, watching the first round of the mini-tourney. Enough people had liked the idea, they turned it into a two-day event. The magical demonstration was to happen later when it was getting dark so the flashier parts would be more impressive. 

The battle we were watching consisted mostly of the two combatants circling one another making occasional feints, and the crowd was getting restive. I was relaxing into that sleeping-while-awake state you learn when riding long distances when Cullen leaned over to quietly say, “I need to thank you. It worked.”

I blinked and held back a yawn. “What worked?”

“Your barrier thing. I hadn’t put up the tarps, but my floors were dry. So thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” I gave him a half smile. “I’ll get you approving of mages and magic yet.”

“Well, _some_ mages and _some_ magic.” But he was smiling too. 

We watched for a moment as the two fighters crossed blades with a metallic clatter, jumped back and began circling again.

“Now I just have to get you to approve that dog squad,” he added.

I snorted, but in a friendly manner.

_=#=_

Late in the afternoon, I was back in Josephine’s office, arguing. The other participants were Josie, Leliana…and Mother Giselle. She wanted to conduct a blessing before the dinner. I objected.

“It is _just_ a blessing,” she protested.

“No, it’s an Andrastian blessing. Not everyone here is Andrastian.”

“ _Most_ are,” she snapped.

“I’m not. The Dalish aren’t. Many dwarves aren’t. Why not add in blessings of Andruil and the Stone if we’re going that route?”

“Is it really so bad? Mother Giselle just wants to wish everyone well,” Leliana said.

“So she can talk to them whenever she likes. Individually.”

Leliana sighed. “Kai.”

Josie added, “Considering Cassandra is the Divine now…”

“That’s lovely for her, but this still isn’t a Chantry organization. And Satinalia isn’t a religious holiday.”

“Perhaps if she didn’t mention Andraste?” Josie ventured.

“Never mind, I will do as he wishes,” Giselle said. “I was only trying to help.”

I said, “Thank you. I trust you understand my concerns.”

She inclined her head graciously, but her eyes were ice. “Of course, Inquisitor.” Slight emphasis on the last word, just shy of sarcasm. “Should you reconsider, I shall be happy to add a blessing to this auspicious occasion.”

“I’m sure the faithful will feel doubly blessed to speak with you personally,” I replied with treacly conviction.

She turned and sailed out of the office, the perfect picture of wounded dignity. I turned away just in time to catch Leliana and Josie giving each other a look of long-suffering understanding, pretended not to notice. 

“Was there anything else?” I asked.

Apparently there wasn’t.

_=#=_

The magic demonstration went well, and from what I gathered had the desired effect. People were entertained and impressed rather than frightened. Despite my initial refusal, I did agree to introduce the show, giving a little spiel about how the Chantry gave them an inaccurate picture of magic which, while it certainly can be dangerous just as many other tools and abilities, can also be practical and even entertaining. I finished the intro by casting a flashy nimbus of electricity around myself with a flourish that Dorian would be proud of, and left the stage to applause. 

I admit, I enjoyed it. 

Dinner started shortly after the magic demonstration ended, without the benefit of blessings from any religious denomination. It didn’t seem to suffer for the lack. I was at the head of the main table, with the Orlesian ambassador on one side and the Fereldan on the other. There was some mild sniping, but on the whole they behaved for the whole couple of hours the meal took. 

It seemed an eternity I’d been waiting, but they finally announced they were clearing the floor for the dancing and drinks that would fill the remainder of the night. I stood off to the side and sipped a cocktail, for once left alone as everyone milled about getting in the way of the staff clearing the dance floor. The quartet that had entertained during the meal left, and a new, larger group of musicians took their places on the dais at the end of the hall. Within fifteen minutes everything was ready. I finished my cocktail as Leliana approached. We took our places in the center of the newly cleared floor. The musicians started a song that had been popular for launching dances for years as we spun into the first steps. She turned out to be quite good, which really shouldn’t have surprised me. The dance went perfectly, and we left the floor to a smattering of applause as the next song began and couples filled the floor. 

Leliana smiled and said, “Well done! You can escape now.” 

I thanked her and made a circuit around the edges of the crowd, cast _don’t notice me_ and slipped through the side door that led down to the basement. Once I was inside the little, forgotten library I pulled the blue envelope out of my pocket and opened it.

Congratulations!  
To receive your Reward  
Go to the Storage Room in the  
East Basement Hallway  
Put on the Blindfold and  
Await your Escort.

I did as the note said. The storeroom in question was a small, out of the way one dedicated to linens. The blindfold—a long piece of black cloth— was hanging off a hook near the back. I put it on, feeling silly and a trifle edgy. After what had to be the longest minute or two in the history of the world, the door creaked open further and a hand touched my shoulder. They didn’t speak, just gave me a gentle push to get me moving, holding my arm to guide me.

I soon gave up trying to ascertain where we were as I was led on a circuitous route through stone-floored hallways. I’d had the horrible thought they might lead me right through the crowd of revellers, but everything remained quiet. We stopped for a moment, and a gruff voice muttered “stairs.” It was disconcerting climbing them in the dark, and there were a lot of them. 

We made it to a landing. I heard another door open, was led through it and told to “wait.”

“Can I take the blindfold off?” I asked. In response, my escort removed it. The room (?) was utterly dark, so it didn’t make much difference. Behind me, the door clunked shut. I wondered whether I’d ruin something by casting light, decided I should probably give it a few minutes. 

As if in response to my thought, warm light bloomed dimly in what was indeed a smallish room. As it brightened, it revealed a patterned rug, couches along the wall to my right, a sideboard and a fireplace on the left. Before me, silhouetted by the light behind it, was the figure of a man made somehow indistinct as if surrounded by fog. The feel of magic was strong and, I began to realize, familiar.

Before I could pursue that thought, the light flashed bright enough that I had to shut my eyes against it. When I opened them, the fog was boiling away dramatically, and out of it stepped

“Dorian?” 

He was wearing loose, black linen trousers and a loose shirt of deep red silk. He grinned. “Have you missed me?”

I’m sure I had a stupidly gobsmacked look on my face as I said, “But you’re still days away.”

Behind me, Sera laughed her mad laugh. “We got you!” She bounded across the room and plopped onto one of the couches.

I was still focused on Dorian, who closed the distance between us and pulled me into an enthusiastic hug. “We did indeed. Are you going to at least give me a kiss hello, amatus?”

Of course I did, then kissed him again for good measure before asking, “When did you get back? Do you mean you and Sera were behind those poems?”

Now that the lights were fully up, I could see the bed behind him. For the moment, though, we sat on a couch. I still couldn’t believe he was there next to me.

“That’s right. Would you like a drink?” He indicated the sideboard, which held wine and beer.

“Yes, please. But why?”

“’Cause we know you,” Sera said, bouncing back up to get beer for me and herself. She even poured Dorian a glass of wine.

“Thank you. What’s that supposed to mean?”

Dorian smiled. “You’ve had very little to do but play politician lately, and I know how much you dislike that. I also know when you get bored and cross, you sulk and start drinking to excess. Skyhold isn’t a thrill a minute at the best of times, and it’s become increasingly bleak of late.”

“It’s _lonely,_ ” Sera clarified. 

“And very noticeably so without my presence,” Dorian added. 

“ _Very_ noticeably,” I agreed. “It’s horrible. And when Sera left too…”

“Exactly. Knowing all that, I enlisted Sera to help come up with something that would keep you intrigued enough that you wouldn’t shut down and spend the entire time drunk and depressed.”

“I’m not _that_ bad,” I protested.

He raised his eyebrows.

“Well…maybe I can be.” I sighed, gave him a rueful smile. “So who wrote the poems?”

“We both did,” Sera said. “Well, Dorian actually _wrote_ ‘em because he knows all the pretty words you’re both so mad about, but I helped. I figured out what a lot of them should be.”

“Was it you who found Mother Giselle’s journal?”

She snickered. “Thought you’d like that. I hid the last envelope in Cullen’s too. “

I gave her a narrow look. “Why does that not surprise me. “

“Dorian set up the thing with Alexius.”

I smiled. “Again, that does not surprise me. But who in the world wrote all those notes? That’s not your handwriting, either of you.”

“There is a very nice lady here who does tailoring. I, of course, looked into her services shortly after arriving here, but it was Sera who discovered she also has exquisite handwriting and a supply of colourful stationary and envelopes. We recruited her to the cause,” Dorian said.

That meant the tailor who made my cape had been in on it. She hadn’t let on in the slightest. “But did Sera really have to leave on Jenny business, or was that all a ruse?”

“I really did. It just didn’t take as long as I said.” She gave us a wicked grin. “Widdle’s gonna find that out soon as I’m done here.”

“What if I’d figured out the clues too late or in the wrong order?” I asked. “What if someone else found them?”

“We had backup plans. Fortunately we didn’t need them,” Dorian said. “Anything else?”

“Just…how did you get back here so quickly? You did go to the Approach, didn’t you?”

“Of course I did. That’s what made this whole venture necessary. I merely exaggerated my return time by a few days because I wanted to surprise you.”

“Well, you certainly did that. If I weren’t so delighted, I’d be quite annoyed with you.”

“Does that mean we’re done with the talky part?” Sera asked.

“You may go surprise and delight Dagna with our blessing,” Dorian said.

Sera cackled. “I’ll leave you to it then. Try not to break shite when you’re getting all hot and magey.” She made a kissy face at us and left. 

Dorian gave me a bright smile. “Alone at last.”

I ran my hand along his right thigh. “I still haven’t gotten my reward.”

He contrived to look shocked. “I’m not reward enough?”

“I’m simply hoping for something a little more…interactive.”

“Ah, well that can be arranged. You’ll note we have everything we need here.”

“Where _is_ here?”

“This is the top floor of the guard tower no one uses. Part of the ongoing Skyhold Improvement Program.”

To my chagrin, I’d not noticed them making improvements to the tower. 

Dorian continued, “Now if you’re done with questions for the time being, might I suggest you’re terribly overdressed?” He gestured lazily, and the logs in the fireplace burst into flame.

“Can’t argue with that,” I agreed. I’d ditched the cape earlier, but set about removing the leather vest and long-sleeved shirt for starters. “You should ward the door shut. Don’t need a curious guard or guest sticking their nose in here.”

“Already done.”

We met at the foot of the bed, and I pulled him close. “Maker, I missed you.”

“I missed you too. I wasn’t even able to make colourful comments about the dreadful colour scheme of the undead I wrote you about.”

“Oh yes, the Venatori soup. You’re going to have to tell me all about it. Was your solution dramatic yet understated?”

He smiled. “You know me so well. I shall tell you in detail once we’ve had some time to decompress. Considering your enthusiasm for outlandish adventure stories, you’ll be thrilled.”

“I’m sure I will. Was anyone devoured alive? Is there still a crater of magical soup in the desert? Did your dead people say anything or just spout Venatori slogans?”

The smile became a grin. “You and your thousands of questions. All in good time; I shan’t have you hanging on my every word if I just tell it to you piecemeal.” He made a moue. “ I wasn’t kidding about the sand, you know. I’m _still_ finding it everywhere. And while everyone was pleasant enough—barring a few people who had a problem with Vints—there was no one to use my best lines on. Very practical people they have there. Terribly…straightforward senses of humour.”

I ran my hands slowly down his back and up again, putting a bit of heat and an electrical tingle into them. “Really? Is that all you missed?”

He chuckled. “Oh, you are glorious. Yes, I merely missed your wit and conversation. That’s why I can’t seem to let go of you now.”

“I thought as much. You know that last poem promised me a dance in the moonlight.”

“It did, didn’t it?” He surveyed the room. “Well, then.” 

He pulled away just a bit and started casting. The light changed from warm and bright to cool and mysterious, shining from above at an angle that threw shadows on the floor and walls. The glow from the fireplace provided a spot of warm contrast. He pulled me to the middle of the room. “Sadly, unless we go fetch someone, there’s no musical accompaniment.”

“I’m sure we can improvise.”

So we danced in the moonlight, and then I collected my reward. It was, just as the very first poem promised, sublime.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments/kudos always appreciated!


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